


Forty KROT Steele

by SuzySteele



Series: Becoming Remington [2]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: 4th Season, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzySteele/pseuds/SuzySteele
Summary: Laura and Remington finally get some personal time together, thanks to KROT 1400-AM.
Relationships: Laura Holt/Remington Steele
Series: Becoming Remington [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1155716
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Act of God

**Author's Note:**

> #2 in the series "Becoming Remington". Although this story launches from Steele on the Air, it takes place between Suburban Steele and Santa Claus is Coming to Steele. Mr. Steele needs two good legs for this adventure. The actual impetus isn’t Steele on the Air, but the tag scene in Santa Claus. I felt that Mr. Steele’s ending quip about his vested interest in Laura Holt’s children came out of nowhere, and that it was out of character for their relationship in this episode. Apparently this sentiment was shared by SZ and PB, as the filmed ending differs from the script. This story is an exercise to understand what prompted him to speak so boldly.

**Chapter 1 - Act of God**

Remington Steele screwed his eyes shut as the white VW Rabbit rocketed through the Long Beach industrial district and barely slowed as it skidded tightly into another intersection. The force threw him against his buckled shoulder harness, and with a finely honed instinct for survival, he tightened his grip on the grab handle above his passenger window, his other hand braced against the front dashboard and his muscles tensed for the expected collision. The little car shuddered but hugged the asphalt as its tires screeched in protest, and they just missed clipping a traffic pole at the corner. A small cloud of dust and road debris drifted upward in their wake.

It was just another afternoon with the bloody insane Laura Holt.

“Come on, baby,” his partner muttered and Baby surged forward. They were in an over-heated pursuit of a van driven by KROT disk jockey Rick ‘The Badman’ Badham, and Badham’s attempts to evade them had only stoked Laura’s need to know why the guy was doing fifty through the industrial park. Steele wished Laura would listen to _his_ opinion on the subject, because the answer was blatantly obvious. ‘Badman’ Badham was suicidal. Unfortunately, his beloved Laura could never refuse a hot car chase. Especially when she wore her fedora. He suspected the fedora made her feel very detective-y, and he wondered if maybe he should start hiding her hats to improve their personal safety. It didn’t help that Badham’s speeding away was the Laura Holt equivalent of waving a red flag before a bull. Steele remembered a narrow escape from an Acapulco bull ring two years ago and wondered if perhaps he should select a more optimistic analogy.

“Laura, maybe you should slow down just a wee tad?” He tried not to sound like he was begging. “I think Badham grasped the point that you’re not letting him go.”

“Then he should slow down and fess up,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on their prey as the van took another hard turn in an attempt to shake its little white Rabbit tail. Steele again braced preemptively against the dash as the Rabbit cornered in pursuit and then straightened with a groan of its chassis. He had the cheerful thought that perhaps their mad chase might end with the transmission falling onto the pavement. Honestly, why couldn’t they just confront Badham later?

The disk jockey had turned onto an open roadway and now Laura opened the car’s throttle and accelerated after him. Steele sighed with resignation and wondered if there would be sufficient time to review his past sins before she lost control and wrapped them both around a telephone pole.

Then an unexpected shadow suddenly loomed behind their vehicle, causing him to glance in the side view mirror.

It was a miracle.

“Laura?”

A small, unromantic grunt was her only response.

“There’s a van pulling up behind us. Flashing red and blue lights.” _Divine intervention! The police! Just in time to stop this mad woman!_

“Someone else is chasing _us_?” She didn’t even glance at the rearview mirror, so it was up to Steele to contort his long frame in his too-small seat and peer through the rear window. That might be a bonus, he reflected. If she did total the car, then she could buy a bigger vehicle. Assuming they survived the collision, of course.

His heart sank. “It’s not the police.” _Damn_.

“Who, then?”

An enormous musical claxon suddenly filled the little car’s interior, at a decibel that made his teeth ring. He recognized the familiar tune from a Lakers’ game Laura had dragged him to. _Charge!_

Then the Voice of God reverberated through the poor little Rabbit and, for a surreal moment, Steele thought that they _had_ crashed and he was already at the Pearly Gates. Which was terrible news. Not so much the realization that he and Laura had apparently just died. But the awful discovery that heaven was another terrifying car chase with Laura Holt.

 _Naturally_.

“You’ve just won the KROT sticker give-away!” trumpeted the voice. But this couldn’t be God because the speaker was little more than a teen-ager. Moments later the delivery-style van pulled alongside and he read the painted logo across the van’s side. 1400 KROT Give-Away. _Seriously? Badham’s people are running intercept?_

Apparently this nonsensical statement about giveaways made sense to Laura. She glanced away from the chase just long enough to shout at the van pulled alongside the passenger-side window. “We don’t want any give-away!” she screamed at his open window. It all ended up in his left ear, and only deafened him further.

A t-shirted, acne-scarred youth dangled from the van’s driver seat as he raced alongside the speeding Rabbit. If this was God, then He worked in truly mysterious ways. “Please pull over!” the youth implored.

Before them, Badham must have spotted the distraction, for now he sped up and took the next corner at too fast a speed. Laura’s eyes narrowed at the challenge and she spun the little car around in tight pursuit. _We’ve lost our tail_ , Steele sighed with relief, but moments later God’s voice filled the car again.

“Your bumper sticker! You win!”

“We don’t wanna win!” Laura yelled into Steele’s ringing ear.

He didn’t know what this was about. But he didn’t like the van and he didn’t like the kid and his ears still hurt, so he followed Laura’s cue. “We don’t listen to you!” he shouted back out the window and made shoeing gestures, hoping the kid would go away.

“It’s a trip for two to Hawaii!”

And with seven little words, Remington Steele was transfigured as if he was Saul on the road to Damascus, and God himself had beamed down into their little vehicle.

 _Good heavens!_ _Who knew the Big Guy heard my prayers?_ He could almost hear the angels singing hallelujah in the seat behind him. Possibly it was still the ringing in his ears.

He looked at Laura to his left. At the van to his right with the beaming youth. Back to Laura. An enormous grin split his features as visions of heaven filled his imagination. Laura. In a bikini. A very small bikini. Himself beside her, embracing her with strong arms. Standing on an empty, silver-sanded beach with waves that stretched to China. Possibly she wore a sarong instead. One that slipped to the ground with a single tug, revealing the curve of slim hips and the swell of breasts beneath her topless…

Not heaven. Nirvana. He twisted back to look at his beloved. “Lauuuuraaaa...?” he begged, and Hope overflowed his very being.

Apparently Laura acknowledged neither Saul nor Enlightenment. She didn’t even look at him.

“Noooo….” she sang back. Her gaze remained fixed on Badham’s pathetic van and yet somehow she knew exactly what he was thinking. How could she shoot him down before she even heard his proposal? The woman was so damn predictable!

Later, after his pulse finally returned to normal, he reflected it was just as well that she was focused on the chase and not on Hawaii. Moments later Badham’s van skidded into a row of parked taxis. Laura slammed the brakes and narrowly missed rear-ending him. Behind them, the KROT van’s brakes also shrieked and Steele screwed his eyes closed and winced for an impact that somehow never came.

Meanwhile, Badham vaulted from the driver’s seat and bolted up the street, while Laura, finally regaining her senses, let the man escape and instead leapt from the Rabbit to discover what was concealed in the disk jockey’s van.

It was a day filled with miracles.

***

They wrapped up the case at KROT the following day. Mildred lost her opportunity to be the next Dr. Ruth. Laura lost her opportunity to take Steele to heaven. And Steele…?

Remington Steele never lost opportunities. Particularly when the opportunity involved the object of his long-frustrated desire. So, several days after the dust had figuratively settled, he took himself to the 1400-AM KROT studios in pursuit of his guardian angel.

He found Frank Dix awaiting his arrival at the KROT reception area. As the station manager escorted Steele to his office, Steele neatly dodged a trio of carpenters, encumbered with two-by-fours and carpet squares, as they repaired the bullet holes that regrettably graced what was otherwise a stylish reception area. Dix wore an uncertain expression as they shook hands. “Steele. It’s good to see you. Please tell me KROT doesn’t have another problem?”

“Not at all, not at all,” Steele replied effusively. He was accustomed to people becoming nervous when he paid an unexpected visit. “Quite the contrary. In fact, I’m rather hoping for a favor from you.”

“From me?” Uncertainty shifted to suspicion.

“It’s about Miss Holt, actually. My loyal associate.”

The suspicion deepened. “The woman who so wanted to pursue this investigation that she said your agency would do it for free?”

“The very one!” he enthused and beamed. _Perfect set up_.

“Don’t tell me you had second thoughts about billing us?”

Steele blinked and the beam switched off. Billing and invoices hadn’t been his end game. “I beg your pardon?”

Dix frowned. “Or does she now want to be the next Dr. Ruth?”

“Miss Holt?” Steele blinked. Considering the status of their own non-relationship, the prospect of Laura Holt offering love advice was more than his imagination could handle. After a moment to recover, he said smoothly, “Nonsense. Detection is her very essence.” He knew that was true, to his detriment again and again. “Miss Holt is my ablest associate. Indeed, she’s the core and heart of the Remington Steele agency. No case is too challenging, no evidence too inaccessible, for her to bring it to a successful resolution. I can state positively that the agency wouldn’t be where it is today, without her considerable efforts.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re so supportive of your staff, Steele. That’s admirable.”

“So loyal, in fact, that she foregoes any mention of recreation or personal need when a case is afoot. Skipped meals, abandoned vacation plans, neglected pets…”

“That doesn’t sound healthy, Steele. Perhaps you should have a word with her.”

“Exactly my point!” Steele crowed and clapped a brotherly hand on Dix’s suit-clad shoulder. “And here’s where I need your assistance. As you just pointed out, we solved the case of Doug West’s murder at considerable danger to ourselves and at no expense to you. It occurred to me that, given these circumstances, the station might reconsider and award the grand prize holiday trip back to Miss Holt.” Dix stared at him, apparently not understanding what he was talking about. Steele decided to help him along. “The trip for two? To Hawaii? The KROT bumper sticker give-away?”

Dix nodded, finally enlightened. “Ah. I heard about that. You mean the prize she refused?”

This did not sound encouraging, and Steele pressed his case. “I appreciate you may have already awarded the prize to another worthy recipient. But I’m that concerned about Miss Holt’s workaholic ways. And let’s consider how KROT benefited from her hard work, eh? After all, we did identify the guilty party. And saved the station from ugly innuendo. Would you believe it? Even _People_ magazine tried to implicate Gus and Norm!” He went for indignation. “What nerve! Who knows what the headlines would have read if Miss Holt and I hadn’t intervened?” He left the idea dangling.

Dix frowned. “It was your investigation that implicated Tyler and Austin in the first place.”

“And cleared them absolutely,” Steele clarified hastily and with a spacious wave of one hand. “Moreover, we identified the true culprit, the annoying Rhymin’ Lyman. Getting rid of him was a blessing right there, eh?”

Well, you make a very good point, Mr. Steele—”

He sensed his opponent wavering and pressed his advantage. “Not to mention your ratings shot up twelve points during that critical drive-time morning commute, meaning an increase in that all important advertising revenue.” He was especially pleased with spotting that factoid in this morning’s business pages.

Dix shook his head. “Yeah, it’s funny how all publicity is good publicity in this business.”

“And remember that, at the time the KROT van identified Miss Holt as the winner, she was in hot pursuit of Rick Badham and those pirated LPs. Always putting business before pleasure, our Miss Holt. And her identification of Lyman as the counterfeiting ring-leader saved KROT from potentially embarrassing charges from law enforcement.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true—”

“In fact, I can’t think of a worthier person for that grand prize than Laura Holt. Devoted listener, and yet focused on identifying the perpetrator behind Doug West’s tragic death, ignoring even the lure of Hawaiian temptation in order to catch her man. It touches me right here—” and he touched his own breast pocket, where his wallet conveniently rested “—that she focused on her duty rather than a transient pleasure. She is, truly, a fourteen-KROT employee.” He thought that last bit was rather a nice touch.

“Mr. Steele, I’m pleased to hear such a sterling endorsement of Miss Holt. I was similarly impressed with her work on this unfortunate situation. I appreciate your taking time from your busy schedule on her behalf.”

“Well, anything for a priceless employee…” He smiled modestly and flapped a hand with practiced insouciance.

And then Dix blindsided him. “Truth is, Mr. Steele, we decided to award the trip to Miss Holt anyway. Cecil identified her car with the bumper sticker, fair and square.”

“You were?” He gulped, and his fingers drifted upward to check the perfect knot of his burgundy and grey silk necktie.

“Moreover, I know your agency’s reputation, and doubtless you perform pro bono work on occasion, as we all do. I realize I spoke hastily about agreeing you’d work for free. In fact, the station owner feels KROT doesn’t qualify for pro bone work. But if you wish to forego the income in lieu of her trip, who am I to argue—”

“No, no! I mean, yes! It’s only appropriate that the Agency receives its financial due for its hard work and diligence. And it’s wholly tax-deductible from your end, I’m sure.”

Dix stared at Steele, bafflement writ large. “I have no idea what you’re on about, Steele. I complain too much, I know, but I’m perfectly happy to cut you a check.”

“Just send it to my direct attention. I’ll see that it’s dealt with personally.” He offered his hand to shake. Turned to leave. And then…

“Steele?” said Dix. Remington paused in midstep. Turned easily and shot his cuffs. Confidence. Elan. Not a worry in the world.

“Your Dr. Krebs?”

“Yes?” An eyebrow rose.

“Any time she wants a gig? Have her call me. Her ratings were amazing.”

He waved an airy hand. “I’ll have my people call your people.”

He managed not to bounce out of Dix’s office. Barely.

_Laura! Hawaii! Sarongs and pineapple drinks and massages with coconut oil!_

How he managed to drive back to the agency’s office without destroying the Auburn, he had no recollection.

[End of Chapter 1]


	2. Funking It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remington is looking forward to their trip to Hawaii, courtesy of KROT. But Laura Holt has other plans.

It was two cases later and Laura Holt had moved on from the business with the light plane crash and KROT. In fact, she had forgotten it, the memories displaced by their next challenging case.

Or she would have forgotten, had she not attended to the agency’s mail. The opened letter in her hand was written on official KROT stationary, and she sat at the desk in her small office and stared at it for some moments before rousing herself. “Mildred!”

Mildred Krebs, of course, would have already reviewed the morning mail delivery and knew exactly what was contained within the opened envelope she’d placed on Miss Holt’s desk. She appeared at the connecting door to reception, a picture of naivety. “Yes?”

“I don’t believe it,” said Laura, addressing the letter in her hand.

“Believe what?”

Laura stared at the letter. It looked innocently back at her. Laura, however, felt a little dazed. “I told them to get lost. I told them I didn’t have a sticker. I told them I was too busy.”

“And?”

“And KROT still wants to award me that prize from their mobile van!” She flapped the letter in the air, in the vague hope that shaking would alter its printed message.

“Congratulations! That’s wonderful! A free trip to Hawaii!” Then Mildred frowned when Laura didn’t match her enthusiasm. “So what’s your point, hon?”

“I don’t have time to go to Hawaii! We have cases to solve! Reports to submit.”

“What cases? The caseload’s manageable. And you can always go in-between them.”

“And all the paperwork?”

“Part of my job description, last I looked.” Mildred struck a stern pose. “Are you saying I can’t handle it?”

“No! No, Mildred. Your work is exemplary.”

Mildred shook her head and fixed her with a motherly gaze. “When was the last time you took a vacation, Miss Holt?”

“Well…” She had to think. “I took some time off when I redecorated my loft after the fire. And when we all went to Cannes. And Malta. I had an extra day in Venice.”

“You call that a vacation? Take the trip. It’s free.”

“But I’ll owe taxes on it! Taxes aren’t cheap on a four-day-three-night vacation to Hawaii.”

“Listen, hon. Remember I keep your books. You can afford it. The agency is more than solvent, even after that fiasco with our landlord and the Santas. You can afford to buy the entire vacation, let alone pay the tax.”

“But it’s a trip for two!”

“So?”

“So who am I going to take?”

Mildred’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m certainly not going to take my mother! And Frances would want to take Donald and the kids. It would be wasted on Nero…Oh.” She paled.

“Why not? You’re crazy about him. He’s crazy about you.”

“I’d be crazy, all right. I wouldn’t be able to keep him off me.”

Mildred canted her head and said, sardonic, “Isn’t that rather the point?”

“That’s just what he would say! But it never works when we mix business with pleasure.”

“Who’s mixing business? This is a vacation, remember? Just warm tropical seas, a sandy beach, and a cool drink. And a very handsome man who thinks the world of you.”

Laura felt her defenses weaken under her friend’s common sense. “The last time we tried a vacation, he invented a case and we found a corpse and almost starved to death in San Francisco.”

“Well, this time, the only person plotting a case is you. And what’s to plot?” Dr. Krebs gave her an accusing look. “You’re just looking for excuses.”

Laura stared at her a long moment. It was patently unfair. Instead of offering the advantages, she expected Mildred to take her side.

_But maybe this is really taking my side?_ With a sigh of resignation, Laura collapsed back into her chair. “You’re right, Mildred. I am looking for excuses.”

“But why? Just between us girls, you keep saying that you want to spend time with the boss and see if there’s anything to your relationship. This is the perfect opportunity.”

“I know it is, Mildred. Truth be told, I guess the possibility scares me.”

Mildred, meanwhile, pulled up the spare chair and sat before Laura’s neat desk. “You wanna share?”

Laura looked away. Toyed with the pencil in her hand, until she realized how she was stroking it. She hastily set it down. “This is going to sound crazy, Mildred. Probably it is…Only…I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Izzat so? And just what do you have?” She sounded skeptical, so Laura ticked it off her fingers.

“We’re great partners. We’re best friends. And there’s a definite attraction between us.” This last comment was meant with a snort and an eyeroll. “But...what if we discover it’s just smoke and mirrors? What if we ruin our partnership? We’d come to work and be miserable. And, after London, I can’t be without him.”

“So you’d rather have a glass that’s half-empty, rather than full? Cause that’s what you have right now.”

“Better than completely empty,” muttered Laura and had the intelligence to look embarrassed.

Now Mildred leaned forward. “Look, hon, haven’t you figured out by now that the boss isn’t hanging around L.A. to work on his tan?”

Laura blinked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Listen to Dr. Krebs. He’s staying around because he’s interested in you. Y.O.U. For what, four years now?”

“Mildred, come on. You know his past.”

“And that makes his staying even more meaningful. Cause he could take that past and go elsewhere with it. But he chooses to stay here. How much longer do you think he’ll stay, if you keep refusing him?”

“I don’t keep refusing him!”

Mildred folded her arms across her ample bosom. “Huh, uh. You’re talkin’ to Dr. Krebs here. What I’d give to have a man look at me, the way he looks at you?”

“Mildred!”

“Book those tickets. You could both do with a vacation, anyway.”

“I don’t have time, Mildred. There’s so much work to do.” She waved a hand over the miniscule stack of manila folders at the corner of her desk.

“I’d book ‘em for you, but then you might back out. If you book ‘em, then you’ll force yourself to go. I know you.”

Laura glared at this stranger who wore Mildred’s clothes and spoke with Mildred’s voice. Mild, unassuming Mildred. The scourge of the IRS matched her glare, and Laura recognized the force she was up against.

She sighed, relenting. “I’ll book the tickets.” 

***

The hardest part of this plan, thought Laura several days later as she sat at her desk and stared unhappily at the airline tickets, which arrived in the morning mail, was how to broach the subject with Mr. Steele. She knew what would happen. He would be absolutely insufferable. Gleeful to the point of bursting. Dripping with innuendo. Absolutely unmanageable. And worst of all, completely incapable of accomplishing a moment’s worth of work until the plane took off.

She considered that. Was that really so different from his current inability to accomplish a moment’s worth of work?

From the outer office came the cheerful carol of Mr. Steele’s daily greeting as he sailed into the office, his metaphoric banners snapping in the breeze. “Morning, morning, morning!”

“Morning, chief,” came Mildred’s reply. It was nine-fifteen; he never arrived before Mildred. Before the work day began. Actually, this was a blessing because it gave Laura time to catch up on her paperwork and plan her day.

“Is Laura in?”

Laura briefly closed her eyes. _Seriously?_ “In her office, boss.”

A moment later his handsome head popped around her door and he smiled warmly at her. “Good morning, Laura.” As always, her heart skipped at the first sight of him. Today he wore a grey suit of textured silk and wool. A perfectly knotted, pale blue tie and matching pocket kerchief brought out his impossibly blue eyes. _Damn him._

“Morning,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

An elegant eyebrow rose. “Was it something I said? Or merely how I said it?”

“No, no.” She laid down her pen, knowing she was doomed to be drawn into conversation.

“Sleep well?”

“Um hmmm.”

“Run out of crooks to chase? Nero’s ill? Your mother’s paying a visit?”

She had to smile at that. He was very good at reading her and cajoling her out of a funk. She said, “No, nothing so dire.”

“Well, then. Nothing to worry about that we can’t handle, eh?” He had perched himself at the edge of her desk, so close that she could feel the heat that radiated from him and caught the enticing scent of his sandalwood aftershave. _Damn him again_. “Laura?” he prodded.

She ran her fingers into her dressed hair and the action dislodged several locks from their clip to fall over her face. She was oblivious to the effect this had on her partner.

“I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of this. I mean, I’m a modern woman.”

“Indeed you are,” he agreed reassuringly. “Modern, confident, intelligent. Sexy.”

“So why am I so embarrassed to ask you?” The eyebrow climbed higher. Laura began tapping her pen against the notepad on her desk.

“Ask me what? Your breath is minty fresh. Your dress is wonderfully slimming.”

“I guess it’s still hard for a woman to ask a man.”

She smiled at his instinctive glance at the closure of his trousers, then his look of relief at finding all secure. “Er, ask me what?”

“After all, you already know about it.”

He knuckled his ear, now wholly off balance. “Ah, I do?”

“You see, it turns out I won that prize anyway.”

“Prize?” He looked at her as if completely at sea. “What prize?”

“You know. The KROT publicity van that chased us down while we were chasing Rick Badham a few weeks back.”

Confusion was replaced with enlightenment. And, yes, definite glee. That familiar seductive twinkle appeared in lavulite eyes. No, of course he wouldn’t have forgotten. “Ah. _That_ prize.”

“You heard me tell the KROT guy. We were busy on a case. I told him to go away. You told him to go away. But he wouldn’t listen. And KROT awarded me the grand prize just because I had their bumper sticker on the car.”

“Ah, yes. The decal that’s since disappeared. And a prize you didn’t want.” He was practically simpering. It was disgusting. “A trip for two to Hawaii.” His smile slipped into seductive. He was very good at seductive. “You. Me. A sandy beach in an isolated cove.”

“Well, they tried to award it to me again.”

“Did they now?” A finger lightly traced her arm, sending up sparks.

“And I told them I didn’t want it. I turned it down, again.”

The finger dropped away and he blinked, taken aback. “My hearing doesn’t seem to be working. I thought I heard you say that you returned a free trip to Hawaii.”

“No, you heard me right,” she mumbled and looked down at her desk.

“So why so miserable? Second thoughts?”

“No. Yes. They said the prize couldn’t be undone.” She realized he was right and that she was miserable. “Turns out they won’t take it back.”

“Good for them.” He studied her for a long moment. She squirmed and looked away, but he’d always had quick wits. He reached out to tilt her chin up with one finger, and forced her to meet his gaze. “Laura? What’s this about? Somehow, I don’t think this is actually about Hawaii, is it?”

He could always read her like a book. It drove her crazy, except for those times like now when she needed his perception, and she took courage from that. “It’s about me. Being a coward.”

“Laura Holt? The woman who dives headlong over balconies and into water drains and tanks of sea snakes? Cowardly?”

“It’s a trip for two. These came today.” She swallowed, then, and handed him the tickets. She felt like she was being dragged to an execution.

He looked at the ticket typeface and his eyebrows nearly climbed into his hair line. “But there’s both our names on the tickets!” He smiled. “Laura. It’s about time.”

“I know…And I had worked it out in my head. A romantic dinner, slipping the tickets onto your plate. Only…I was too scared. I funked it.”

He said, carefully, “You don’t have to drag me along, Laura. I’d love it if you did. But the trip is yours to do as you please.” He paused. “Maybe you’d prefer a mother-daughter bonding vacation?”

She stared at him, aghast. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, she is the mother who birthed you.”

“You’re not helping.” She sighed. Rose. Paced her small office and then turned abruptly, hugging herself. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come with me. I do!” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I think it would be amazing.”

He smiled back. “It would be amazing. But I hear a ‘but’.”

“We’ve grown close. I can’t deny it. I also can’t deny our attraction for each other.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, too. There’s still a ‘but’ coming.”

“We’re so good. So close…What if this trip ruins it?”

He stood abruptly. “Ruins it? Us? Laura, I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Probably…But I’m afraid to take that chance. I want you in my life. And I’m afraid to risk losing that.”

He reached for her hand. “Laura. I’ve told you before. I’m not leaving you. I’m so very glad we’re together.”

“But what if, when we draw closer, we discover we don’t like who the other person is? What if we have a blow-out argument that we can’t mend?”

“What if you squeeze the toothpaste from the end, while I squeeze from the middle?” Her expression must have given her away, for he added hastily, “I can change. I’m not wedded to the middle. And I’m perfectly adapt at both cooking and cleaning.”

She threw up her hands and began to pace her small office. “It’s stupid, I know, that I should be such a basket case over this. I’m a strong and independent woman. I should charge right over and demand you accompany me to Hawaii. Or seduce you into coming.”

“Marvelous idea, Laura. Can’t disagree with that.”

“And every time I open my mouth to ask, it scares the hell out of me.”

He asked, carefully, “What scares you so much, Laura? You’re not your mother. You’ve uncovered my past. And I’m not going to abandon you like your father did. How much is there about each other that we don’t already know?”

“Apart from the obvious?” For once, he sounded like he was being honest with her. He deserved the same from her, and she straightened. “All right, then. The truth? I think I know you. You think you know me. And…we both thought we knew people we cared deeply for. And we were both spectacularly, devastatingly wrong.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and she knew he understood exactly whom she referred to, even though the woman’s name was never spoken between them. Anna, the woman he once thought to marry and instead betrayed him. That twitch was a little betraying mark that told her she’d struck a nerve. But instead of arguing, or blowing it off with a glib line, he surprised her and stepped toward her with a solemnity she seldom saw. He drew her into an embrace and draped his arms loosely about her waist. “I’m willing to take that chance, Laura. We’ve had four years to know each other. We’re not entering into this with naïve fantasies.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Fantasies? Absolutely. Definitely not naïve.”

“And what if it goes wrong? What if I ruin what we have?”

“You couldn’t possibly ruin it, Laura. You’re too important to me.”

“And you, me. So much so, I don’t know if I could pick up the pieces if we went wrong.”

“Then we’ll make certain that doesn’t happen, because I don’t wish to spend my life without you, either.”

Hope rose like a tendril in her heart. “You don’t? Growing closer terrifies me. We haven’t had a great track record when we do try. Or get away by ourselves.”

He gave her a little hug. “Well, let’s blame the corpses, eh? Dreadful habit they have of following us around.”

It was his confident good humor that reassured her, and she tilted up to look at him. “In which case, I promise not to find any corpses. And if they do fall around us, I’ll let them lie.”

“I’ve never been to Hawaii. I can’t promise I know anyone there, but if my past comes to visit, I’ll steadfastly ignore it.”

They looked at each other a long moment, their matching expressions skeptical. Then Laura began to laugh, and Steele joined her, catching the joke.

“It’ll never happen that way. We’ll find a dead man in our bathtub.”

“Clutching a priceless, jewel-encrusted chalice that I failed to retrieve years ago.”

“I don’t know what we’ll do if we don’t have a corpse to distract us.”

“Don’t you?” He gave her a suggestive leer and drew her closer, his hands sliding down the upper curve of her hip. “Then allow me to proscribe daily activities that will keep the corpses and stolen artworks at bay.”

She raised an enticing eyebrow. “Mr. Steele, are you suggesting all day and all night?”

“Pack your swim suits, running shoes, and walking gear.”

“And for the night?”

“We’ll see where the chips fall.” His lips brushed against hers, gentle and suggestive. She returned the kiss, equally gentle at first, and then more insistent, showing him that she had the courage to pursue what might happen.

Just before the kiss took on a greater urgency, he pulled back, dropped a lighter one, and then smiled. She realized that he was trying not to spook her, trying not to pressure her, and she was grateful to him. He said, “This trip would be a perfect opportunity to see if…our relationship does have legs.”

“Mildred said the same thing to me.”

“That Dr. Krebs is a wise woman.” 

End of Chapter 2


	3. A Modern, Independent Woman

Laura left Fred and the limo running, parked in the Rossmore’s loading zone. Her stride through the lobby were confident, but the ride up the elevator gnawed at her nerves, and her steps had slowed as she went up the hallway. Now she stood before the closed door labeled 5A, shifting from foot to foot in her blue linen espadrilles and her hand frozen in mid-gesture before the door buzzer. Two weeks had passed since her conversation with Mr. Steele about the Hawaiian trip, and since then they had handled a trio of cases, including one where she had coolly confronted an embezzler, whom they had cornered and was threatening to kill himself, and she had talked him down and convinced him to hand her the pistol. So why did she hesitate now ring Mr. Steele’s doorbell? _Because when you do, there’s no going back on this trip. This is your last chance to back out._

_But I don’t want to back out. I don’t._

Hating herself, she firmly pushed the buzzer, and almost instantly, the door swung open to reveal Mr. Steele, and she realized that he had been watching for the limo’s arrival, and had been waiting by the door all this time. He wore an open-necked blue shirt and a casual blazer with khaki trousers, that only enhanced his own good looks. His own expression turned appreciative as her absorbed her own appearance. She had taken care this morning and wore a light blouse and slim Bermuda shorts in a flattering blue that somehow matched his. Her feet within her shoes were bare, suggesting the beach. She had left her hair loose to tumble over her shoulders, and had taken an extra moment in the limo to freshen her lipstick. Judging from his expression, her effort was not unnoticed, and she couldn’t help but bask in its glow.

He said, “I had a bet with myself that you might be here to entice me with a case, instead of our trip.”

“True confession? I was sort of hoping for one. But instead, I called my own bluff, and here I am.”

His smile widened. “Here you are, indeed. Terrible thing, knowing one’s self so well.”

She glanced past him into the apartment, and he stepped aside to admit her, then closed the door behind her. “Where’s your suitcase?” she asked.

“My turn for a confession. In the bedroom. Just in case there might be…ah, disappointment.”

Suddenly she knew that she’d made exactly the right decision, and her lips curled upward. “Is that so? Then I’ll just have to disappoint you on that score.” And she grabbed him by the jacket lapels and pulled him close for a powerful, full throttle kiss, just to demonstrate that any hesitation was history and their trip was still on. He responded instantly, and she found herself getting lost in his taste and scent as lips met and tongues teased and their bodies heated. At some point she thought he murmured, “Who needs Hawaii when we can have this?” and she couldn’t find fault with that logic. Her arms encircled his shoulders even as his hand entangled her hair, and she found herself responding with a passion that felt new, and she shimmered with an anticipatory tingle through her Bermuda shorts…

And then the telephone on his credenza rang. “Ignore it,” she whispered through their kisses, and he answered, “Ignore what?” as lips visited the exposed skin along her neckline…

And then someone buzzed the apartment door. “Persistent bugger,” said Steele. It buzzed again. And then a sharp knocking.

“Mr. Steele? Miss Holt?”

“It’s Fred!” They leapt apart as if struck.

“Are you all right?” came his voice, and Steele rushed to open the door while Laura smoothed her shirt and hair, and tried to tamp-down the fire he had kindled.

Fred stood in the doorway, his livery cap in one hand and looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but it’s been awhile and I don’t want you to miss your flights.”

Laura glanced at her watch, and then flushed as she realized how much time had passed. No wonder Fred was worried. Steele said smoothly, “My apologies. A minor case difficulty that popped up. All dealt with. I’ll just fetch my suitcase.”

Fred was shaking his head. “I’m sorry about interrupting. But if I don’t get the two of you on that airplane, I’ll have to answer to Mildred.”

He stepped back into the hallway, and Laura had the sudden suspicion that Fred knew exactly what had been going on. Beside her, Steele rocked back onto his heels and grinned. “Good old Fred. Who knew the old boy had a vested interest in the outcome, eh?”

“Are you surprised?” Laura said as she waited beside Steele as he locked his apartment door, while Fred proceeded to the elevator. “I doubt anyone knows more of our secrets than poor, long-suffering Fred. He’s had to sit through more of our back-seat bickering than even Mildred.”

By now, they were experienced travelers together, and Laura looked forward to an enjoyable five-hour flight. Mr. Steele turned it into heaven. She knew the seats awarded by KROT were tourist class, and yet she wasn’t surprised that Steele somehow transformed them into first. The flight was marked by an easy companionship, and was punctuated by subtle displays of affection made more erotic by their restraint. A brush of his shoulder against his, a long finger that caressed the back of her hand, and all along he kept up a light banter that maintained their easy companionship while somehow stoking her fires. About an hour into the flight, a flight attendant walked up the short aisle carrying an opened champagne bottle and a pair of glasses. She stopped beside their seats and set the glasses down on Laura’s open tray table.

Laura blinked. “Um, I didn’t order this.”

“Complements of the airline. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re on your honeymoon.”

She flushed. “We’re not actually—” and was cut off as Steele leaned across her to favor the attendant.

“How very perceptive. We didn’t want to make a fuss.”

“I think you should celebrate. The world needs more love these days.”

Laura gave him a look as the attendant filled their glasses. He gave a little shrug, but those blue eyes were twinkling, and when the woman returned to the forward pantry with the bottle, he raised his glass in a lover’s toast. It was pointless to argue, of course, so Laura crooked her own around his, and they managed to sip without spilling.

When she looked back at him, his one eyebrow was raised. “Are you always going to fuss like this, whenever I send you unexpected champagne?” She knew he referred to their meeting all those years ago.

“I must say, Mr. Steele, you have a genuine knack for keeping us first class, even there’s only peanut butter in the cupboard.”

“I prefer to think of it as a gift.”

The attendant kept their glasses topped, and it was late afternoon when they finally landed. They found their luggage, claimed their rental car – of course Mr. Steele had reserved a sporty convertible – and once they left the airport traffic behind, he drove along the winding coast to their oceanside hotel. Laura’s anxiety dissolved before the gorgeous views of azure seas and white sand beaches, but came roaring back as Steele pulled into the hotel’s covered veranda and liveried attendants leapt forward to open her door. “I am a modern woman. I am a modern woman,” she muttered to herself, and in consequence strode with near-defiance, Steele a half-pace behind, as she approached the front desk to check in.

“Ah, yes,” said the clerk. “Laura Holt.” He handed her the key on its plastic tag and smiled. “We’ve been expecting you. Congratulations.”

That was gratifying, as was the bellhop who helped with the luggage. But despite her muttered mantra, her nervousness returned as the elevator discharged them to an upper floor, where they followed the bellhop down a seemingly endless, door-lined hall. He finally stopped before one at the far end, unlocked it with the key that Steele handed him, and then stepped back with a flourish to gesture them inside.

Laura gasped.

For a free trip, she expected at best a small room crammed with two standard beds and a view of the parking deck, or perhaps a convention center rooftop. Instead, she discovered a two-room suite that featured a kitchenette, bar, and invitingly plush sofas. Along the outside wall was a sliding door that led to a balcony and an ocean view. A side credenza held an enormous gift basket of food and wine, a coffee table was graced with a dazzling array of tropical flowers, and a potted white orchid bloomed atop the bar. There was an adjoining bedroom and, dazed, she wandered in to discover an enormous king bed and another sliding door that led to a connected balcony with ocean views. She vaguely heard Steele direct the luggage delivery as she investigated what turned out to be a generous tiled bath with a shower large enough for two. Her heart began to beat quicker. She stepped onto the balcony to admire the white beach and azure bay, and thought about days on the beach, and nights in the enormous king bed behind her.

She heard his light step just moments before he slipped an arm around her waist. He pulled her close and rested his head against hers, and she drank in his soft sandalwood scent. “Satisfactory, Miss Holt?”

“Absolutely.” She pivoted gently, laced her arms around him and drew him into a kiss that satisfied them both.

They dined al fresco at the hotel and danced on the restaurant’s patio amidst flickering torches to music from a small combo. But the flight had taken five hours and with the time change Laura was mortified to find herself yawning in her partner’s close embrace.

“Tired?”

“No…” She glanced at her watch. “It’s not even eleven.”

“It’s two am. Time for bed before we turn into pumpkins. Or was it mice?”

“Really, no. I’m fine.”

“And eight hours from now we need to be aboard the Na' wahini. She leaves the pier at seven.”

“The Na' wahini? What’s this?”

He merely smiled. “A surprise. Dress for a day on and in the water.” In response to her puzzled look, he gave her a gentle squeeze, his arms still wrapped around her. “I promised you an itinerary that keeps the corpses at bay. Or at least on land while we’re in the water.”

“Well, there’s something to be said for disappearing on a boat where no one can find us.”

They rode back up the elevator and returned to their suite, hand in hand. Before Laura had the opportunity to object, he gently kissed her forehead. “It’s been a long day. We’re both tired. I’ll take the sofa bed.”

“You’re not going to try?”

One eyebrow rose. “Oh, I’ll try. Just not tonight. I’ll never take advantage of you that way.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“We sail at dawn. Sweet dreams, Laura.”

It was not coincidental that neither party drifted immediately to sleep, imagination keeping them awake as they contemplated the week ahead. And when sleep finally arrived, the dreams were sweet indeed.


	4. Taking the Reins

It was still dark as he drove with Laura on the short ride to the harbor, where they joined the other guests who were waiting pierside. Just as he predicted, Laura was delighted to discover that the Na' wahini was a charter boat that specialized in dives. The sun was just rising as the boat slipped from its berth and they enjoyed a generous breakfast as they watched its great orange globe rise over the sea, casting cast golden and silver lights that danced across waves that slowly shifted from midnight black to silver, and then to a translucent blue-green. After a ninety-minute trip, they dropped anchor at an off-shore reef, where they and five other couples spent much of the day exploring its undersea treasures. In the morning, they snorkeled amidst jewel-colored fish that darted between masses of coral and waving anemone, and after lunch they switched to dive tanks and explored the seagrass bottom. Yet despite the distractions from the reef’s dazzling beauty, Steele’s own anxiety emerged, and he couldn’t help but compare this day to the last time they had dived together, that night in Cannes when they swam to Freddie Smith’s yacht and retrieved Henri’s stolen dagger. It had been an infuriating night as they stabbed and slashed at each other’s vulnerabilities, estranged and hurt by what they saw as the other’s betrayal. But if today’s dive reminded Laura of that bitter time, she gave no sign and instead seemed captivated by their expedition, following with delight the oblivious rays that gracefully glided over the soft sandy bottom. He was grateful for that, and was happy to follow her lead as they swam. This only made sense, as she was the better swimmer of the two. It was how things usually went with Laura, of course, with her taking the lead, and after three years together, he still didn’t mind. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth if that was where she led him. Not to mention that following offered frequent, excellent views of her shapely derriere and long toned legs.

On the landward trip back, Steele stationed himself in a lounge chair and was content to watch his companion. He marveled at how relaxed and in-the-moment Laura was; it was a side of her he rarely glimpsed. After quick showers to rinse off the salt water, she and several other women had poured over guidebooks to identify as many of the fish as they could remember. She was poised, relaxed, and he thought never more beautiful. With that task completed, she found her way to his side and now occupied the lounge chair beside him, cool drink in hand and the other tucked into his. She gave him a warm smile and, when he looked back at her a few moments later, was pleasantly surprised to discover she’d fallen asleep. _Laura? Asleep during the day?_ Well, he had wanted to give her a memorable, relaxing vacation and apparently he’d succeeded in spades. He contented himself with watching her. Her freckles had already emerged under the tropical sun, and he stuffed down a desire to investigate each one of them; in her two-piece swimsuit and sheer overlay he could see a good number of them. His fingers itched for a pencil to capture her figure, but his sketchpad was still in his suitcase back at the hotel. Instead, he satisfied himself with committing the moment to memory: her long lean legs and slim hips. The rise and fall of perfect breasts. Her thick hair, fighting against the braids as its natural waves came out as it dried. The tilt of her head and that pert chin, often stubborn but now relaxed. The curve of pliant lips. He remembered a conversation from long ago. _Smitten? You’ve stolen my heart completely._

_How can I repay what you’ve given me? What price for a name? A life? A home? Here’s my sad attempt. No distractions. No pressure. No games._ His hand tightened around hers. _Just a man and a woman, finding their way._

_Just let it be the ending I long for._

She was eventually awakened by the altered thrum of the ship’s engines as they pulled toward the pier. He watched with delight as she stirred and stretched and mmmm’d, and finally brown eyes flickered open to look at him. “I love it when you wake up beside me,” he said.

She lifted a hand to rub the chagrin from her face. “How long was I asleep?”

“Oh, a good hour.”

“What?” She hoisted herself to sit upright. “I’m sorry; that was rude of me. What must you think?”

“I think it was nice to see Laura Holt taking care of herself. Beside,” and he waggled an eyebrow, “I was perfectly entertained by an excellent view.”

“You!” She boxed his arm, but it was an affectionate blow.

Back at the hotel, they showered and changed, and he took her to dine at an elegant, beachfront restaurant a past client had recommended. There was a jazz combo and after dessert – chocolate, of course – they revolved slowly in each other’s arms and it wasn’t just the light tropical breeze that kept them warm. Laura wore the white silken palazzo slacks and golden bandeau that she’d worn that first night in Malta, and back then it had driven him crazy because they were in the midst of ‘strictly professional’ and she knew damn well there was nothing he could do about it. But now…was it an invitation? A sign that things were different from that bitter, angry time?

They’d taken a taxi to the restaurant, but as they were leaving Laura said, “Let’s walk. It’s a beautiful night,” and who was he to argue? There was a sidewalk but, like all the other late-night vacationers they chose to walk on the soft, warm sand, and Laura pulled off her sandals and Steele his loafers, and they strolled back along the beachfront to the hotel, his arm about her and hers around him, and holding her so close that they seemed to walk as one, his steps shortened to match hers. The ocean waves murmured and shushed against silver sand, while silver stars sparkled and twinkled above. He felt suspended in time and the distance dissolved before them and it was far too soon when they reached their hotel.

Laura paused and turned in his arms. “This was a lovely day. Thank you,” and she brushed a light kiss against his lips.

“Wait till you see what’s planned for tomorrow,” he murmured and offered a gentle kiss in return.

“Why wait till tomorrow?” she suggested and her voice was husky with desire.

His brains stumbled at her unexpected and direct flirtation. “Ah. Yes. Right. Why wait, indeed?”

Still barefoot, they strolled hand-in-hand across the lobby, unselfconscious, and rode the elevator back to their suite. Inside, Laura dropped her heels onto the carpet and curled herself onto the sofa, while Steele loosened his tie and removed his cuff links, the latter clinking into a small bowl on the credenza. “Drink?” he asked automatically, his back to her as he evaluated the bar. He turned when she failed to respond, and then froze as he realized she was watching him, and he was instantly aware that they were both acutely aware of the other’s every gesture. It was one of those moments when time arrested and he felt the electricity crackle between them. It had been a long day and his resistance was down and anything was possible. Anything. He moved toward her as if he were a great predatory cat, and she stilled, her wide eyes never leaving him, like prey caught between his paws. His body crackled as the energy from a thousand dynamos danced across his nerves. He stopped before her, his gaze still holding her, and then he stooped and barely brushed his forehead against hers, and her answering tremor sent sparks to dance across his skin. He was acutely conscious of her light floral scent and her unique blend of strength and femininity. Golden lights flickered in her changeable brown eyes, and he read in them her hunger and desire. He shifted a hair closer and brushed lips against hers, feather-light, and then pulled back to read her. _Is she serious? How far will she go?_

He sensed her answer the instant before she moved. She clasped his open collar with one hand and laced strong fingers through his hair, and then pulled him forward and at the same time rolled so that he slowly fell onto the sofa and she atop him. His arms dropped automatically around the bare skin of her midriff as she began a series of teasing nips along his jawline. The electricity ripped through him, and yet he was surprised to find himself not responding. Instead, he absorbed her attack and let her have her way. He found it incredibly erotic and he knew she felt the same, because the onslaught intensified. Impulsive Laura flared. Laura the fan-dancer. Laura, the courageous one who was willing to take a chance.

They were stretched across the sofa, she atop him and her left leg crossing his right. Her assault continued and he let her take the reins as lips and touch worked their magic and set his own lips afire and then cheek and then the sensitive skin behind one ear and then downward beneath his open collar and finally cool, slim hands slid down to unbutton his shirt and she pulled the fabric apart and tugged its tails from their restriction within his waistband and now investigated with fingers and then lips the thick hair of his chest and then he gasped as she cupped his sensitive nipples and it was all he could do to stay under control. She had started with a slow assault and now her urgency grew, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep his own in check, even as it further heightened his sensation.

“Laura…”

“Mmm?”

“If you don’t want to short-circuit the proceedings…”

Her lips made the return trip from his chest to the hollow of his throat, and then brushed against an ear. “What’s wrong, Mr. Steele?” she teased. “Can’t take it anymore?”

“Oh, I can take it. It’s just my turn to deliver.” Matching actions to words, he expertly flipped them both over so that she was pinned between his elbows.

“You know me,” she replied huskily. “I’ve always insisted on equality between the sexes.”

With an invitation like that, he lost himself in the sensation that was Laura. He took his time, drawing it out as she had for him. Gently cupping her face for kisses that teased, withdrew, and then probed. Hands and then lips brushed the soft skin of her bare collar and shoulders. The gold bandeau revealed acres of territory that he’d only fantasized about in his daydreams. Just as she had in those dreams, she trembled at each new touch, as sensation flowed between them. He read her every nuance and knew exactly what she felt and what she needed. The only portion of him still capable of rational thought was equal measures astonished and relieved that his Laura was no demure passenger for this ride – (and he had instinctively known that from their first glorious luggage cart argument all those years ago) – and she was uninhibited at letting him know her needs and demands. It was the essence of their partnership, now seamless and made new.

Beneath and around him, he felt her vibrate, and he lifted up a moment to see this unexpected response, only to discover her…laughing silently. He raised a quizzical eyebrow and she said, “Oh, it’s not you. It’s that we got this far. Here’s where someone starts shooting at us, or a body crashes through the patio window, or Mildred calls with an urgent message.”

He made a pretense of listening. “No gunshots. No Mildred. Not even a footstep.”

“Then it’s full steam ahead, Mr. Steele,” she breathed warmly into his ear.

He traced a gesture over one breast, wrapped in the gold lame of her top. Her breath caught and he felt her pulse speed up and the skin above her bandeau warmed a becoming pink. And, remarkably, she didn’t pull away. He circled again, testing, and then lightly brushed a nipple. It was already hard.

“Yes…God, yes…” It was the faintest whisper, but it was all the sign he needed and he began the onslaught afresh, tracing and retracing the curves, thumbing and teasing as she began to moan with matching arousal, her hips moving against his and brushing against his own long hardness. Eventually, his fingers played with the bottom edge of her bandeau, inserting themselves to follow the line between skin and fabric. Laura shifted beneath him and his first thought was that he’d crossed the line again, so he raised himself up and swallowed back disappointment. _Well, mate, this is further than you’ve ever gone together…_ And then his thoughts were stunned as she reached behind her back to find the bandeau’s closure.

He had trouble finding his voice, but his hands darted to arrest hers. “Laura…are you sure?”

She fixed him with a sultry look that turned him to water and he was quite certain he’d never seen that look before. “Why do you think I wore this tonight? I know it drove you crazy in Malta.”

“Then allow me…” In his fantasies he’d already made a study of that costume. He gently turned her so her back was to him and he unfastened the small hook and eye at the top. Then he slowly eased open the zipper, a centimeter at a time, and warmed the newly exposed flesh with his breath and then lips. She was humming under his touch and he could feel her growing tension and definite arousal as he refused to let her return the favor. Finally, the bottom zip released and the bandeau fell away. In the same gesture she pivoted about and pressed herself against his chest, pressing her warm breasts against the hardness of his exposed chest. They eased gently to the carpet and he began his explorations anew in this terra incognita. First with eyes, then with hands, then lips, and finally tongue and gentle teeth, nipping and laving while her nails grazed his bare back and played across his own terrain. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his own shirt and only now did it register. So lost was he in her taste and smell and touch that too late did he realize she’d shifted beneath and was now calling and gasping and pressed against his long length within his trousers as she unexpectedly found release. He forced himself to hold on and let her ride as she shook, and he stroked and held her until the shudders eased and her breathing finally returned to normal. “I’m sorry,” he stammered softly, ever the gentleman. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I meant to. And…my god! And we haven’t even gotten below the waist!”

“I know,” he said and gave her that mischievous grin.

She sat up, then, and he was suddenly afraid that she would be angry. Or embarrassed. Or a dozen other reactions. But he didn’t anticipate the confidence she now displayed as she reached across the carpet for his discarded shirt and pulled it on. She didn’t button it or pull it closed over her bare breasts, which further astonished him. “Sorry, I’m a little chilled. Silly in this tropical air, isn’t it?”

“It’s the vigorous exercise.”

“Damn…” She was shaking her head and he realized she was still as awed as he was by the strength of her reaction.

“It’s okay, Laura,” he said. He drew her close and she rested her head against his bare shoulder. His hand behind began to rub slow circles across her back, feeling her warmth. “I’m not offended. I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t expect…It’s been so long.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’m glad, actually.”

“I knew we’d be good together. But…wow…” She tilted to look up at him. “How do you manage to hang on?”

“Practice. I think about George Mulch a lot.”

She chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, that works. I think about my mother.”

They sat quietly together, absorbing what had happened, the thin silk of his shirt barely noticeable given the heat that radiated between them while he toyed with a lock of her hair. Then he said, without thinking, “Sleep with me, Laura.”

Brown eyes went wide as she pulled back to look at him. “What?”

“Not like that. Just…sleep with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I made you a promise. No pressure on this trip. Just the opportunity to find ourselves.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “Explore the possibilities?”

“Precisely.”

“You just want to see what I look like when I wake up,” she said, teasing him a little.

“I already know what you look like. We’ve slept together often enough.”

“Then…what?”

“I don’t know, really. Except…” His fingers continued to stroke and twine through her hair, and the soft strands seemed to dance beneath his touch. “Except I need to feel you in my arms. I need to feel your closeness. I need…” He didn’t know how to say it until the words tumbled out, unfiltered and unexpected. “I need to know you’ll be here, and in my arms tomorrow.”

“That _I’ll_ be here?” She pulled back and her dark eyes were wide with astonishment. “You’re saying this? The man with no past and no name?”

He could have picked a fight with her then and there. And, in fact, he again felt that old familiar spurt of anger and injustice. But this time needed to be different. If they were to move forward, then he had to move in a new direction and away from the old, treadworn path. What he wanted to say was that he didn’t know if she’d feel this way about him – about them – tomorrow morning. She’d always pulled away when she feared they were drawing too close. Cannes. Westfield. But he couldn’t say that aloud. He didn’t want to disrupt the tenuous bond being forged. There was no point in dragging in the past when there was a future to look forward to. And, oh, how he ached to be anchored after a lifetime without a tether.

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I get the irony. You need to believe that I’ll be here with you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Without Remington Steele, you mean.”

“And who is Remington Steele without Laura Holt?”

She squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, he does a fine job with interviews and publicity.” She looked up at him, then, and raised a hand to touch his cheek. “And he’s a damn fine detective and the best partner I’ve ever had.”

His free hand rose to touch hers. “Laura. Thanks to you, I have a name to be proud of, a home, and a sense of purpose. I’ve no intention of leaving your side.”

“I know that. Here, in my brain. And…sometimes in my heart. When I don’t remember my father. Or Wilson.”

“I’m not Wilson. Or your father. And if I ever met him…”

She smiled, then. “I know. And you’re definitely not them. I can promise you that.”

“I’ll take the sofa tonight.”

“No. I want to move forward with you. With us. Will you join me?” She squeezed his hand. “Only I can’t promise anything more tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat from all that swimming. And…you know.” A blush tinged her bare skin beneath his shirt.

“And we were up early.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Part of my cunning plan, you know. Keep you too exhausted to do anything but acquiesce.”

“Well,” she said, looking him over, “You’re cunning plan is working.” She leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’ll grab the first shower.”

He was nervous as hell while he waited. She’d have second thoughts. Third thoughts. She’d decide they had gone too far. He carefully rehung her discarded top in the closet, handling the garment almost reverently in the awareness that she _had_ discarded it. She wasn’t long, and when she came out his heart almost stopped and the desire roared forward again. She clearly had packed for the possibilities, and she wore a floor-length, dark crimson gown with spaghetti straps and a sheer long jacket overlaid. All very discreet and sexy as hell because it left none of her shape to his imagination. She looked a little defiant, which only enhanced his desire for her, and her strength gave him courage as he took her hands in his.

“Exquisite,” he murmured and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Make yourself comfortable.” He showered just as fast and reappeared without a shirt but wearing loose pajamas bottoms, because he knew what his body’s response would be while they slept. _Hell. It’s my response already and how could she not see it?_ Laura had dimmed the lights and was already in bed. _Our bed._ He joined her with a soft rustle of sheets and he could hear his heart pounding. They’d left the balcony door open, and moonlight shone across their bed as a soft breeze caressed bare skin. He rolled onto his right side and Laura immediately scooted back to cuddle against him, spooning herself into his embrace. Her cool feet rested against his shins and he shifted one leg forward to fold over hers. His upper arm curled across her soft breasts, and moments later her hand reached up to be enfolded into his.

“Good night,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Laura.” He pressed a kiss into the back of her damp hair. He felt, more than heard, her soft sigh that sounded like uncertainty letting go, and then the subtle breathing shift that told him she was asleep. And despite his need to feel her, warm and solid in his arms, he drifted into the similar slumber where dreams continued the events of day that he once thought would never come.

[end of Chapter 4]


	5. Sauce

Laura was dreaming. She was somewhere on the ocean with Mr. Steele aboard Freddie Smith's yacht, and it rocked gently beneath them as they made love in that enormous four-poster bed. They rolled deep within soft pillows and plush spreads and Steele brought her to a climax that sent her spiraling through pleasures she’d never imagined until now. It was intensely erotic and unlike any dream she’d experienced before. She awoke then, gasping and physically trembling, and when her pulse finally slowed and brought her back to _now_ , she discovered that she wasn’t in Smith’s bed, or even her own bed back at the loft. A soft susurration of waves at the fringes of awareness brought back memory, and her lips curved into a smile as she remembered exactly where she was and why. She also realized that she was still incredibly horny. And the explanation for all this was the larger figure whose hip rested against hers, with his very definite, long hardness pressed against her hip and lower back, and ill-disguised by the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms. She was torn between the desire to enjoy him against the need to see him, and after long moments of indecision she gently, carefully, rolled back and propped her head against her hand, the better to look at him without waking him.

And her breath caught. He was unnaturally handsome, that much had been obvious at their first meeting, all those years ago. But now, in the stillness of sleep, those familiar features were transformed into a person she’d never met before. The guarded expression that periodically haunted him was gone, and she saw how he might have looked before the world had slapped him hard. How he might have looked as a child, if he had ever the opportunity to be one. Several months back, he shared a heart-breaking story of being an outsider at Christmas, and the tale prompted her suspicion that he never had a childhood, or at least one that was worth revisiting. _You once said that you might never have known your name. What happened that you can’t remember your family? Or won’t? And what is it about Los Angeles, and Remington Steele, that keeps you here? I’d like to think it’s love. But you never say the words. Is it because they frighten you? As much as they frighten me?_

She must have stirred then, because even as she completed the thought, blue eyes opened. Drank her in. A smile warmed his features. “You’re still here.”

She smiled back. “Good morning. You’re still here, too.”

“That augers well for us, don’t you think?”

“The best.” She placed the lightest of kisses, just brushing his lips. A thick lock of hair had fallen over her face, and he reached out to brush it back.

“I could learn to like waking up like this.”

“And why is that, Mr. Steele?”

“Because it looks remarkably like my future.”

A shimmer ran through her at words she hadn’t expected to hear, and he had to have felt her response through fingertips that rested against her cheek. “That shouldn’t frighten you, Laura.”

“How could it? I traveled all the way to London to bring you back.”

“An act that continues to amaze me. Because you didn’t like how the future looked, either.” Blue eyes searched hers. Serious. Seeking honesty.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m very glad you came back with me.”

“I’m very glad you found me.” He moved forward, then, to press lips to her forehead, and she leaned into his gesture, unable to resist the intimacy. Somehow he knew what was in her heart. “See?” he murmured against her ear. “Thirty-six hours without a case and we haven’t dissolved into argument.”

She pulled back to look at him. “That’s because I have you under my spell, Mr. Steele.”

An eyebrow rose. “Really? And here I thought you were under mine.”

“Well, we could argue about that.”

“We could.”

“As you know, Mr. Steele, I’m a detective who demands evidence. And I’ll have to insist that you provide it.”

“Apparently I will,” he agreed.

She reached for him, then, and proceeded to make her point.

Despite her words, he wasn’t certain how Laura would play out their morning. He hoped for a repeat of the previous night. Hoped she would be willing to go further. And while she responded eagerly to his caresses and kisses, and gave as good as she got, this morning her hands stayed firmly above his waist despite the hard evidence that laid in insistent proximity. _The woman has an iron-clad self-control_ , he thought, and then laughed a little hysterically to himself. _No. Steel-clad. Wish it were Steele-clad._ Some of his self-deprecating humor bubbled forward, and she pulled back to look at him, her brown eyes warm and dancing.

“What is it?”

“You. Us.”

She searched his expression, looking for…apparently she found it, for she pulled back a little more. “Disappointed?”

It flahed past before he could check his response. He could have said No, but he knew he mustn’t lie to her. Not now. “A little.”

“I know we’re going to be good together.”

“After last night? You have a capacity for understatement. Like saying Bogart and Bacall were merely average. Or Gable and Leigh.”

“But you know I want more than a tumble.”

His hand drifted up to curve around her face, and then brushed back her thick hair. His heart was lost to her. “I want more than that too. And you have to believe that I want it with you.”

“I know that. When I don’t think too hard about it.”

“So don’t think,” and he kissed her again, this time with a passion whose sole purpose was to make her magnificent brain stutter to a halt.

And yet, even as her arms wound around his neck and she met his caresses with a strength and desire equal to his, he pulled back.

“Wha--?” she stumbled. “Don’t—” She reached for him, but he kept his distance. He wanted to take her all the way. But he also knew that wasn’t the path into Laura Holt’s heart. If he wanted in, he had to sail the long voyage. He swallowed back his regret and thought of George Mulch.

“I made you a promise last night. Just sleeping together.”

“But not when I want you?” The little frown appeared.

“Oh, I want you just as much. But I don’t want you regretting us when this is over. I can’t go backward.”

“Like the business with Westfield,” she said softly, and her contrition was eloquent. She hoisted herself by the elbows up and onto their pillows. Straightened the spaghetti straps of her gown, which he’d pulled down much earlier, the better to investigate what laid beneath. She said, “I don’t know why my head’s so messed up. I’m sorry. I trust you with my life, you know...But I guess it’s not the same as trusting with our hearts.”

He didn’t need to answer that one, so he held his council.

“All right, Mr. Steele. We’ll do this your way.”

He blinked. “Did I just hear you correctly? Laura Holt?”

“You said I needed to start trusting with my heart.” She locked her arms around his neck and tilted her face up, enticing him. “And what is today’s agenda, Mr. Steele?” Brown eyes danced with merriment, and in them he saw no suspicion, no calculation, no concern. None of the usual Laura Holt characteristics that meant she was thinking with her brain and listening to her fears.

She was thinking with her heart, and it was exactly what he wanted for her.

“Hiking, Miss Holt. With perhaps an occasional plunge.”

After they showered and breakfasted, they took the convertible on a coastal drive that left behind the hotels and followed curved sandy beaches and black lava out-thrusts, and after an hour turned inland into a tropical forest, rich with exotic trees and draped with flowering vines. In the humid, ocean-scented air they heard strange bird calls and spied jewel-like flashes of red and yellow and green that swooped across their path only to vanish into the foliage. They drank in the fresh morning air and eventually he turned onto a side road where large wood placards announced a state park. After a brief map consultation, they gained a gravel road that took them up and down densely forested hillsides and around coastal bends that yielded spectacular views of white beaches, blue skies and blue-green waters. Eventually they pulled into a trailhead and parked. While Laura stepped out to examine the posted trail map, Steele retrieved from behind their car seats a pair of lightweight backpacks. His steps crunched across the gravel and he handed one of the packs to Laura, who gave it an experimental heft.

“What’s this?” she asked, amused at his organization skills.

“Lunch, of course.”

“Of course.” Her grin broadened. “Are you always so organized, Mr. Steele?”

“It’s all about the journey, Miss Holt.”

They set off along a trail that had even more amazing views than the drive. Ever the gentleman, he let Laura take the lead and set their pace, given her shorter stride. It again had the bonus view of long legs and slim hips that curved enticingly beneath the khaki fabric of her hiking shorts, and there was something in her saucy grin beneath her mauve baseball cap that said she knew exactly what he’d done and why, and he loved that about her, that she could keep up with and even anticipate his thoughts.

They eventually ascended a series of switchbacks to hike along a ridge line. Enormous red blooms shone like jewels against the lush green backdrop. And not merely green, but emerald and lime, mint and sage, fern and moss, jungle and jade, and more shades of green than even an Irishman could imagine. Mysterious birds called in the distance, and occasionally a winged jewel flashed across their path and glittered within the scattered patches of sunlight. In the near distance to their left, they caught occasional, tantalizing glimpses of the azure ocean frosted with seafoam caps.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hike down and take a dip along one of those sandy beaches?”

“Patience. I’ve been promised something better.”

“Better than this?” and he grinned at her incredulity.

Soon they encountered a fork in the trail and, another consultation with their map, Steele indicated the left route, the road less traveled. As they continued hiking, the trail further narrowed, with ferns closing onto its pebbled edges and the occasional leafy branch that breached their path. Laura glanced behind at her partner.

“Mr. Steele? Are you sure this is right?”

He raised an eyebrow and made a show of consulting a compass retrieved from his shirt pocket. “Absolutely accurate, Miss Holt.”

He could see the doubt in her expression. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s come this way in weeks. Maybe months.”

“That’s rather the point. Lead on, Laura.”

After another thirty minutes, they were rewarded with the sound of tumbling water. They rounded a dense curve and the faltering trail abruptly opened to reveal a ten-foot waterfall that tumbled from a lava rock face above and into an open pool that spread before them. Laura froze in her tracks, mesmerized.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

“I did promise something better.”

“Trust you to know about this.”

“We’re actually outside the park now, on private land. Bing Perret suggested it.”

“Bing Perret?”

“His father owns the land. Bing rather owed me.”

Laura shook her head slowly as she continued to absorb the scene. “That’s some debt…A secret pool.”

“I think Bing’s amply repaid us for the broken furniture,” he agreed, and his amazement matched hers. “I’d no idea it was so…”

“Seductive?”

“Well endowed.”

Laura gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You can thank Bing later. Last one in’s a rotten egg.” They shed their packs and he couldn’t help but watch as she unlaced her boots and pulled off her socks. To his delight, she slipped from her shorts and t-shirt to reveal bikini bottoms and top. Then she waded into the pool and walked until the water was thigh-high, then dove beneath its surface, disappearing only to pop up just below the waterfall a half-dozen yards away. She was treading water and called, “It’s maybe six foot deep, here. Bracing but refreshing.” Her grin widened. “You’re overdressed, Mr. Steele.”

“Just admiring a spectacular view.”

“What do I want with admiration?” Her grin turned flirtatious. “What you catch, you keep.”

His grin matched hers as he recognized the line and the circumstances. “I thought we already settled that point.” In response, she dove under again. Unable to resist, he removed his own attire to reveal a trim and fitted swimsuit.

“Well done, Mr. Steele!” her voice called before popping under again.

He waded in, then dove after her, and they spent an intoxicating time playing catch and release, laughing as Laura dove in and out of his clasp and squealing with delight as he captured her firmly. She came up and sprayed them both with droplets that caught and flashed in the patch of sunlight.

“I don’t know if you’re a water sprite or a mermaid.”

“Mermaid,” she said promptly. “Luring foolish, vulnerable men under my spell.”

“Powerless to resist,” he agreed. The depth here was up to their hips, and he pulled her into a long kiss that abruptly morphed from playful into something more. The water had liberated them from the old inhibitions. His kiss deepened and became more probing. Demanded more. Laura matched him move for move. Lips moved to caress a sensitive neckline, a collarbone, tease a breast. They visited terrain only newly explored the previous night, and it was equally enticing and exhilarating. They didn’t remove clothes; there was no need as everything could be felt and pleasured through the wet fabric of their swim suits. At some point Laura wound a leg around his hips and pulled herself up against him, and she began moving against his hardness and he couldn’t help but respond, cupping his hands around her buttocks to pull her closer, guide her in, but she already knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he needed. And apparently she needed it too, because she was sending him right over the edge.

“Laura…” he groaned, “careful…”

Her breath was warm against his ear. “Mr. Steele, you don’t have to think about George Mulch anymore.”

“Laura…”

“Equality, Mr. Steele. It’s your turn now.”

And with her permission he spiraled upward, helpless and mindless as she thrust against him and he against her until with a wordless cry he reached sweet release, hoarsely mouthing her name with his face pressed against her wet shoulder she was the only woman he wanted the only woman he ever needed and he was dimly aware that she clung to him as well, her forehead pressed against his collar bone and hands gripping his forearms and shuddering against him and it was all he could do to cling to her as wave after wave took him where he truly hadn’t been before. No woman had ever meant so much.

Eventually thought returned and, with it, he pulled her close to press against him. “Oh, god,” was all he could manage, his voice muffled against the soft flesh of her collarbone. “My god, Laura.”

He felt her answering chuckle. “Sauce for the gander, Mr. Steele.”

“Not sauce,” he said hoarsely. “That was the whole damn banquet.”

“Then bon appetit,” she said and kissed him again. “Who says Laura Holt can’t cook?”

[end of Chapter 5]


	6. Futuristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Remington are having a marvelous holiday. But sometimes neither of them can leave well enough alone.

Laura had taken him to the brink and beyond, and it was all he could manage to continue standing in the pool, leaning against a convenient stone and trying not collapse against her. He still clutched her tight against him, her skin slick against his, and once his breathing steadied and rubbery legs regained their strength, he reluctantly released her. Ran shaking hands over his face and dunked himself underneath to try for some vague semblance of normal. But it wasn't normal and he'd been right this morning. He couldn't go back. But he was still leery of pushing their luck, so he slid back into being a gentleman and rinsed himself off before wading ashore, following in her slim wake. He couldn't talk about what just happened. He knew he could ruin it. So instead he retrieved their backpacks and Laura spread a blanket in a dappled patch of sunlight, and he distributed the plates and serving utensils and food containers from the hotel's kitchen, chicken salad sandwiches and fresh fruit and a lovely sparkling spumanti, with plenty of water to stay hydrated.

After they finished, Laura shifted herself to follow the sunlight that slowly moved through the overhanging trees, and rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes. She had, however, positioned herself so that she was within his easy reach, and he took that as an invitation and twined his fingers through her damp hair. To his relief, she didn't pull away. Didn’t set up the barriers that usually accompanied a bout of intimacy. Although nothing like the intimacy they’d just shared. _Yes, definitely a good sign._

Laura sighed and snuggled into the blanket beneath her. “Mmm. I could lie in this sun all day. Wish I’d thought to bring a comb for my hair.”

“Here. Let me deal with it.” She shifted to bring her head closer, dropping against his lap, and he began to run his hands through its thick abundance, separating it into plaits.

“Don’t tell me you once spent time as a hairdresser,” Laura said, eyes still closed.

“No. But I’ve seen you do it often enough.”

“When I was a teenager, I used to iron it to straighten it. Back when long, straight hair was the fashion. Drove my mother crazy. She said I looked like a hippy.”

He grinned. “I rather liked you in the rose-colored glasses and denim,” he said, remembering their recent case with the life insurance scam and Laura’s disguise as a hippy plant lady so she could enter the company’s office and download their files.

“I’d wear anything or do anything that kept me from looking or acting like my mother. Or Frances. Frances escaped it all by getting married. I had a lot of trouble with that, nice as Donald is. Seemed like out of the frying pan. I got out by focusing on school and getting the scholarship to Stanford.”

“What did your younger sister do? Or brother? I confess I don’t know which.”

Instantly her relaxed posture stiffened and she pulled away from him. The braids he’d been holding slid from his hands and unwound themselves. _Damn. Damn damn damn._

She said, her voice tense, “What younger sister?”

“Um,” he said, stalling and trying to remember. “You mother once mentioned it.”

“Mother did!?” Her eyebrows climbed into her scalp.

“Well, not in those words. It was just in passing. That you were the middle child.” He almost added, _and always the most difficult_ , but he realized he’d already said too much. _What the hell?_

“She’s wrong,” Laura said flatly. She sat upright and began to busy herself with their picnic remnants, snapping lids back onto plastic cartons.

“Surely a mother would know these things,” he said, pushing his luck like the fool he was.

“Mother says things to get attention. When did she say this?” She still addressed their leftovers.

“Years ago. Back, well, um, during the Five Nudes business, actually.”

“Hmph.” Now she pulled the scattered silverware into a neat collection and wrapped them in a discarded napkin. “You should know better than to pay attention to anything my mother says. Melodrama’s her middle name.”

He decided it was safer to retreat into familiar territory, and was grateful that she hadn’t taken his head off. “Fair point. Now, come back here. I’ve not quite finished your hair. Have you a hair tie?”

“Wouldn’t be without one.” But she still sounded wary and she retrieved her shorts, which had been laid into the sun to dry, and rummaged through the pockets until she found several elastic bands and passed them to him. But she let him continue to braid, and he worked in silence to manage the thick plaits. It was rather like working with one of the horses he’d managed in his youth. There was nothing like a curry and brush to calm even the most spirited nature.

When he finished, he gave her bare shoulders a squeeze and lightly kissed the nape of her neck, and it pleased him that she shivered in response. “There. Not up to your standards, I expect, but reasonably passable.”

She patted the new hair-do. “It feels marvelous. Thank you.”

“All part of my amazing domestic service.”

“As long as you don’t extend that service to our clients,” she said with a mock growl. “I’m feeling possessive about that.” She reached across the blanket to again feel her shorts and shirt. Needing a distraction. Apparently deciding they were still damp, she flipped them over into a fresh patch of sunlight and did the same for his shirt and trousers. When she returned, she deliberately seated herself at his side and, to his surprise, took his hand into her own.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you just now,” she said, startling him even further. “It’s obviously not something I talk about.”

“I’m sorry I asked. I should have guessed when you never spoke of anyone but Frances. Chalk it up to detective curiosity. I mean, I’ve never had a sibling. At least that I know of.”

“I suppose you might have one in Frances and Donald, in a way.”

“Oh? How’s that?” His heart unexpectedly beat a little faster.

“Be prepared for an awful lot of dinner invitations. Apparently Danny caught some of our late-night smooching when we baby-sat, and he spilled the beans to his mother.”

He laughed. “Danny has all the makings of an outstanding detective. I’ll have to try a larger bribe next time.”

“Got you, too, huh? He made me promise to teach him lock-picking. I could hardly refuse him. But please don’t tell Frances.” They recently spent considerable time with the Piper family, courtesy of a dying man who had the temerity to expire in Frances’s immaculate kitchen.

“Not a word,” he promised, making a cross-my-heart gesture.

She chuckled and shook her head. “I gotta say, you were great with the kids. I never pictured the suave, urbane Remington Steele on his hands and knees and crawling about the carpet with a five-year-old riding on top. Especially after some of our past misadventures with kids.”

“Well, someone needed to keep an eye on them. You needed to help Frances and Donald.”

“It was a remarkable sight. Which is why…” Her voice faltered. “Oh, never mind.” She began to gather up the paper plates.

“Laura?” He reached out and arrested her. Turned her toward him. “As you said. Sauce for the gander. You’re turn.”

“It’s not important,” she mumbled.

“It is. I can tell because that little frown reappeared.” He waited her out. He was very good at waiting her out, and eventually she gave a little sigh.

“If you insist…It was later. At the house.” He flinched as he guessed what was coming, and Laura began to toy with the spoon in her hand. “I’ve said it before. I’d like to have a family someday. I’m not claiming I know how. I have trouble keeping Nero fed some days. Then, other days, I think that maybe I’d like to have that family with you.” She glanced at him and his blue eyes were riveted on hers. Mesmerized. “You were amazing with those kids. I would never have guessed it. But then…”

The guilty acknowledgement washed through him. “I was a complete swine about helping care for them at the house.”

“Well. That’s one way to put it,” she said, and he heard the frost in her voice.

“Laura, I’m sorry. I was only trying to get your goat.”

“You certainly succeeded.”

“I did save you from finding the body in the trash,” he offered, trying to lighten her mood.

She gave him her patented look of annoyance. “Because I’m not accustomed to finding bodies?”

“Look,” he said, “it was selfish and wrong of me. I agree. There was no need to follow Frances’s silly chalkboard and it’s no secret I’m the better cook of us two.”

“Then why did you have to be so annoying about it?” she protested. “Would it have killed your ego to have helped get them ready for school?”

He sighed. Rubbed at his nose, wondering if she could handle the truth. If he could handle it. _Well, in for a penny._ “Laura. Maybe…maybe being so good with your nieces and nephew scared me, too. I don’t exactly have a lot of expertise on the subject.”

Laura looked sharply at him then, giving him a look that questioned whether she’d heard him right. “Really?” And then she softened, and he wondered what it was she saw in him just then. Regret? Honesty? She said, “You were great with them. You’ve no cause to be scared.”

“Right. The man who never had a childhood,” and there was a bitterness in his voice that he hadn’t expected to pop out, because he was never self-recriminating, never bitter. His motto was always look forward, never backward. Laura knew who he’d been, thanks to that moment of weakness when he’d shared the story about that self-absorbed youth who never had a Christmas. It was a shameful confession, and to his astonishment it hadn’t turned Laura away. To the contrary, she saw the good in him and had only empathy for that angry, disenfranchised lad. Now, once again, she smiled at him and his uncertainty. It was like the sun coming out and it warmed away his fears and insecurity.

She said, “And me with a father who ran away and a mother who can’t see her daughter as an individual.”

He managed a lop-sided smile back. “Quite the pair of experts, we are.”

Laura held up a hand. “Look, I don’t claim to know how to make it work, combining work and a family. But what I do know is that any attempt has to be a full partnership with the father of my children.”

The conversation had abruptly become more serious than he’d expected. It was time for a little levity. “Mommy takes out the trash and daddy prepares breakfast and gets the kids out the door? I’ve no partiality to trash removal, as it happens.”

She continued to watch him with a steady gaze that made him uncomfortable. It was as if she could peer right into him and could see his lame joke wasn’t a dismissal of her concerns, but an attempt to avoid something bigger. It was his habit, borne from a lifetime’s need to conceal that which made one vulnerable. Like his heart.

“Laura? What now?”

It was remarkable how sometimes she saw every liniment of his heart. “I expect that wasn’t the aspect of our relationship you thought we’d explore this weekend.”

He tugged at an earlobe. “I, ah, my timeframe wasn’t anywhere near as futuristic.”

“That’s all right. It wasn’t what I meant to discuss, either.” She rose, then. “Perhaps we should gather up our picnic and head back.”

His gaze again followed her as they descended the hillside and back to the convertible, but instead of seeing her unselfconsciously erotic figure, all he could see was a future of unexpected possibilities. And his response to it confused the hell out of him.

[End of Chapter 6]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of Suburban Steele confuse the hell out of me, too. Why was Steele such a jerk at the Pipers? Personally, I thought the writers went too far in pursuit of a joke. But we need a story-based reason. Let me know what you think of my explanation.


	7. A Promise of Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are Laura and Remington up to next on their Hawaiian holiday? One word...Freckles.

They returned to the hotel and Laura went for a swim in the hotel pool, as if their long hike hadn’t been enough exercise. Sometimes the woman was incorrigible. Steele followed her down and positioned himself on a nearby chaise lounge with a cold drink involving fruit and rum; ample views of her supple figure were entertainment enough, so much so that he failed to notice the numerous, longing glances cast in his direction by other, scantily-clad women at the poolside. Laura rejoined him after half an hour of swimming laps that exhausted him just by watching, and they reclined side-by-side on adjoining chairs and napped in the late afternoon sun, while other guests cavorted past. Neither mentioned their magical and unexpected experience beneath the waterfall, but their acute sensitivity to the other person’s slightest gesture revealed this was still foremost in both their minds, as one or the other reached across the armrest to caress a bare arm or entwine fingers.

Eventually hunger roused them along with a cooling breeze, and they awoke to discover a setting sun and a pool area that had largely cleared out. Laura stretched and yawned and both looked chagrined as Steele retrieved her discarded cover-up and passed it to her.

“Good lord,” said Laura. “We could’ve slept out here all night and no one would have bothered us.”

He let his hand glide up her arm. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, I can suggest a more private place.”

“I’m all yours, Miss Holt.”

Then his stomach growled and Laura threw her head back and laughed. “Not before I feed you, Mr. Steele. We don’t want a repeat of San Francisco on that count, either.”

She was as good as her word and took charge of dinner that evening. He pretended to be offended when he discovered she’d booked them a table at a luau complete with Hawaiian singers, ukuleles, whole roast pig, fish steamed in banana leaves, and more fruit drinks with alcohol. She even handed him a garland and said with a sultry look, “Here’s your chance to get me lei’d,” and he did the expected grumble and gruff over the pun before draping the flowers around her slim neck and pulled her close. She had pinned an orchid in her hair and wore a little dress that showed her freckles and bare shoulders to every advantage and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. After dinner the Hawaiian girls came out to dance and they didn’t hold a candle to his Laura, not even when they took a fancy to him and pulled him onto the stage and wrapped a grass skirt around his slacks. He decided to ham it up like the sailors in _South Pacific_ and it was worth it to see Laura’s gales of laughter as he swished his hips in time with the ukuleles. It was even better when she came up and showed him how it was done and he was awfully glad that he was still wearing the skirt so she couldn’t see the effect her sensuous rhythm had on him.

After the show ended, the musicians stayed on to play, and he took her in his arms and they slowly revolved about the dance floor to haunting island songs about love lost and won. Her smaller hand was nestled in his larger one and the other was warm against his back and occasionally her head rested against his shoulder and he breathed the floral scent of Laura that would always mean home. They were at the center of stillness as the outside world revolved beyond them, and they only roused to the present when they discovered that they were still revolving to the music in their heads while the musicians packed their instruments.

“Who needs musicians anyway?” he said as they continued to drift in step with each other.

“I didn’t notice they had stopped,” she agreed. “I could dance all night.”

“I think we already have.”

He wasn’t certain what would happen back at their hotel and he was cautious about scaring her away, so he kept the pressure off and let her find her own way. She kept her hand in his on the drive back to the hotel. In their room, he switched on a lamp and turned to find Laura close beside him, so he gathered her in his arms and kissed her gently, testing the waters. She came back with an answering vigor and they matched each other, move for move, yet not so much hungry as enjoying the journey. He wasn’t surprised, however, when she finally stepped away, and surprise became astonishment as she led him by the hand to the bedroom. “Laura? Are you sure?”

“Not entirely. Just…no pressure, okay?”

“Never with you.” He swept her up and carried her into bed, where they explored their new land again and brought each other to closure that wasn’t quite complete, but would do as a resting place during this new journey. Afterward, Laura slipped into sleep first, and he laid beside her with his head propped against his hand and simply watched the curve of her lips and the rise and fall of her steady breathing. He marveled at his good fortune that this amazing woman wanted him in her life. She knew now who he probably was – an orphaned bastard with no name and no father, a bloke who made it up as he went along – and while she still bridled at his reticence to revisit his past, she had come to trust him in all the important matters. They weren’t there yet, wherever “there” was, but it was a damn fine start.

***

It was their third morning of waking together and Laura definitely enjoyed the experience. She’d long predicted that crossing the four-year-high barrier she had erected between them was going to be a helluva ride, and probably better than any man she’d enjoyed before.

She now appreciated that this was a major understatement. The ride with her Mr. Steele was unlike anything she had anticipated. There was plenty of foreplay and incredible, passionate pleasuring. They didn’t go “all the way” and sometimes the situation made her recall her former, teen-aged self, but she wanted to save the best for when they were both ready. For when it would really mean more than anything else in the world. Because when that happened, there was no going back and things between them would be different forever.

But, for now, it was pretty damn good.

It was morning and they were still together, wrapped in sheets and each other. Steele rested on an elbow, looking down on her, and his other hand traced lightly across her arm. “I love your freckles,” he said unexpectedly.

“Freckles?” Her eyebrows went up. “Here I am, lying in bed with you, and you’re focused on my freckles?”

He got that gleam in his eye, the one that signaled he was up to something. The one that now caused her to tingle with anticipation. He said, with deceptive innocence, “I did say they were sexy. I think I’m going to count them.”

“Count themmm—” she began, thinking that hardly sounded sexy, and then her words dissolved into a hiss of intake as he touched lips to her left shoulder and lightly kissed the spot.

“One…” he murmured and then kissed her skin again, slightly shifting to her left. “Two...” The lips touched bare skin again. “Three…” His breath warmed her skin, and she began to grasp the effect this new game was about to have on her. On them both. “Four…” Little shocks began to race through Laura. “Five…” By twenty, the anticipation was making her quiver. By thirty, she was clutching his shoulder and gasping for breath, and shortly thereafter counting became irrelevant for them both.

Afterward, she was nestled in the circle of his arms and her head rested against his shoulder.

“That was a very cunning plan, Mr. Steele.”

“It wasn’t much of a plan. I’ve wanted to count your freckles almost since we met.”

“I don’t think you got very far in your counting. I expect you’ll have to start all over.”

“I expect so. I got distracted and lost count. Perhaps your math skills can help me.”

His mention of math reminded her of Stanford, and from there it was a straight line to a recent case and something he said back then that puzzled her ever since. At the time, she daren’t ask about it. But now...

He gently nudged her with a hip. “What?” he asked.

“I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Afraid my ego can’t take it?” he teased.

“Well, when you put it like that?“ She pulled herself up on one elbow, the better to look at him. “I was remembering that case with Veenhoff.”

His expression brightened noticeably. “That was a most excellent case,” he said with mock solemnity.

“Only because you thought you’d seen me naked.”

“As I said, an excellent case.”

She swatted lightly at his bare shoulder. “You! How could possibly you think that woman was me?”

An eyebrow rose. “She did have your face.”

“And as you darn well could see, no freckles.”

He reached out a finger to trace the smattering of freckles below the hollow of her throat, and his touch sent sparks across her skin.

“Perhaps they were airbrushed out.”

“And as you certainly knew, no one would ever describe me as ‘endowed’.”

The hand dropped to run across the tops of her breasts. “They look nicely endowed to me.”

“Since when are these a 38 triple-D!”

“Is that what she was?”

“Come on. You see me every day. That body didn’t look anything like mine!”

He considered that. Then he said, “Perhaps…Did you stop to consider that my…error was because that woman _was_ how I see you?”

“You think I look like a porn magazine pin-up?”

“When I look at you, I see an incredibly desirable woman who satisfies all my fantasies.”

“Oh…” she breathed. And shut up.

Because it suggested more interesting possibilities to explore.

[end of Chapter 7]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remington's response to the Bedside Babes in Blushing left me baffled - here's a possible explanation.


	8. Nothing

“It’s our last full day,” said Laura later, stating the obvious as they sat on their balcony. They had finally succumbed to mundane desires and watched their view of ocean waves while enjoying breakfast, eggs for him and fruit and yogurt for her. She had teased him to order what she ordered, but the truth was that he liked a hot breakfast. Maybe in another few years?

“Are you planning to make the most of it?” she continued, eyeing him over her yogurt bowl.

“I am,” he said, aiming for mysterious.

“And what have you planned for us? It’ll be tough to top snorkeling in the reefs. Or swimming in our own private waterfall.” And she held his gaze while she ran her tongue along her spoon and its creamy white contents, slowly so that his breath caught and his brain sputtered.

“Well,” he said when his brain started working again, and he pushed back from the table and rose to come around and catch her from behind with a one-armed embrace. “I thought we’d do…”

“Yes?” She leaned back against him with a happy sigh and gently rubbed her soft hair against his freshly shaved cheek.

“Nothing.”

She twisted around to catch his raised eyebrows and own seductive look. “Nothing?”

“Exactly. Laura Holt runs the finest detective agency in Los Angeles. Day in, day out. Never gives herself a vacation. And I asked myself, what does Laura deserve more than anything else? And the answer was obvious.”

“Nothing? I deserve nothing?” She wasn’t angry, thank goodness, but teasing him in return, as she’d picked up the gleam in his eye. _How well we read each other this week._

His free hand drifted to trace a line down her arm and he felt her answering tremor. “Precisely. An entire day of…Nothing. Don your swimsuit, pack your suntan lotion and that trashy novel you’re pretending not to read, and we’re off to the beach for a day of nothing.”

He nuzzled her neck and, after an enjoyable interlude, she pulled away and caught his gaze; her own was mischievous and he loved the lights that danced in her gold-flecked brown eyes. “I’ve sussed you out. You just want to spend the day massaging my body with coconut oil.”

He grinned. “What did I say? The finest detective in Southern California.”

They decamped to a prime spot on the beach where they took in the curve of white sand and an azure sea that really did stretch before them all the way to China. They spread large towels and an enormous rented umbrella, and Steele spent the next heavenly half-hour covering every square inch of Laura’s freckled skin with sunblock. Long ago in Acapulco, he was forced to watch another man do that, another man who got to run his hands over her bare skin aboard a yacht, while he was left shore-side to grind his teeth and play the voyeur through binoculars. Now, his hands caressed and traveled in a manner he’d never been allowed before, and she closed her eyes and sighed deeply, and his touch morphed into a deep massage that left her so relaxed he impulsively checked that she was still breathing. Afterward, he sat back in his beach chair under the shade of his umbrella and flipped open his sketch book, while Laura dozed in the sun.

He ought to be sketching the view with its sweep of beach and dance of sun on white-capped waves and the volcanic ridges behind, but all his pencil wanted was to capture Laura, and the graphite traced the curve of her hip and the uplift of her back muscles into her surprisingly strong shoulders, and the complex weave of her pinned hair and the equally complex intricacies of her bare feet and toes. He didn’t know what love was. He was pretty certain he’d never experienced it. But he knew he needed this woman in his life forever and he hoped this interlude might deepen the trust she needed from him in return.

She was so still that he’d assumed she was dozing, until she said from her prone position, face down on her towel, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?”

“The massage. It’s heavenly.” Her muffled voice was lazy and relaxed. Not jealous. Just curious. He thought it was good progress.

“I’ll spin a tale about a countess on the Riviera.”

“I’ll bet it was someone from your smuggling days.”

“Close enough. Hard labor makes one discover muscles new to science.”

“I think you discovered three new ones just now,” she agreed. Then… “And the sketching?”

“I’ve always been handy with a pencil.”

“I expect a man who works around fine art needs to understand the craft. How to tell a real painting from its forgery.” She was remembering the Pritkin case, he knew, and that brief interlude when she’d experienced the rush he felt at the beginning of his recovery work. Long before he discovered how dangerous that work would actually be.

He considered her assumption. Debated with himself. Then decided to take a chance on honesty. “Daniel’s doing. He noticed my penchant for drawing. Enrolled me in formal classes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Loved it. It’s easy to make new friends when you’re gifted with a pencil.”

“A young man who travels the world alone could use new friends,” she said with her usual acumen, still lying with her arms cradled on her arms, eyes closed, atop beach towel, and he marveled anew at how well she understood him, even when he said so little about his past. After another long pause, she added, “I suppose it came in handy as you learned to recognize the forgeries.”

He understood the question that she wasn’t asking. He ought to have been angry or upset that she would think such a thing. But his need for them to move forward was greater, and to move forward meant that he had to discard the old habits of his past.

And since he apparently had no name to give Laura, he was left to dispense the only gift that was still in his power to grant – honesty about the parts of his past that he did know about and were okay to revisit.

He said through his dark glasses, looking over frolicking beach-goers and blue water at the nothingness beyond, “There was a period in my early years with Daniel when I spent a fair number of days at the Tate, just sketching. Sometimes the Portrait Gallery. At the time, I thought Daniel had some notion about how to use that skill to pull a con. Only later did I realize it was his way to forge a connection between us, when he saw my genuine interest in the subject. And the task gave an unruly young man discipline of a different sort.”

She asked, still also looking at nothing, “Did you enjoy it? The drawing and the artwork?”

He couldn’t prevent his smile. “Are you kidding? It was splendid. Sitting all day in museums, surrounded by opulence and culture, and not being chased off as a truant or urchin. Just drawing.”

He had paused and Laura said, unexpectedly, “Sitting inside the warm room instead of looking through the window?”

He didn’t need to answer. Laura had already read his heart. Instead, he said, “But when it came time to put brush to canvas? Turns out I was a dreadful copyist.”

Now Laura twisted around to look at him. “That’s not true. I’ve seen your drawings. They’re wonderful.”

“Oh, aye, they’re wonderful, all right.” The Irishism slipped out with his memories and he hoped she hadn’t caught it. “And all too original. And that, you see, is the difference between the copyist and everyone else.” Another forgotten recollection swam back into memory and his smile broadened. “Now, Badger. That was another story.”

She gave a little frown and fell for his need to switch the subject. “Badger? Like _Wind in the Willows_?”

“Badger because he spent most of his time in his burrow. Admittedly a burrow on the fourth floor with a very good skylight. He was a brilliant copyist. A genius. He could make a Renoir sing and a Goya weep. So good that I can think of three that are hanging in museums. I shan’t say where, of course.”

“That must have made him proud, knowing that.”

“On the contrary. It fair broke his heart. You see, Badger wanted to be a real artist. But he was so good at mimicking other styles, it came so naturally to him, that he’d little choice but it became his career. ‘I’d rather be a top copyist than a half-arsed artist,’ he told me once.”

Laura laughed, as he knew she would. “I can’t argue with his philosophy, despite the questionable morals.”

It felt good to speak of Badger; it was as though he was visiting his old friend again. He continued, “Badger was so good a copyist that he felt compelled to insert just the tiniest flaw in each of his paintings. He told me, ‘Someday, they’ll need to know whose work this really is. And besides, only God can make a perfect work of art.’ At which point Badger thought about it and corrected himself. ‘And Monet, of course,’ he said.”

“Now I think you’re pulling my leg.”

“Badger would never lie about Monet,” he said with all sincerity.

“I think he’s a person from your past I’d enjoy meeting.”

That startled him enough that he nudged his sunglasses down with a finger to peer directly at her. “I think he’d like meeting you, too. Perhaps someday.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Steele.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence. He continued his sketching, capturing children sprinting across sand, and the grin of a local boy who walked from blanket to blanket selling cold sodas and bottled water from his wheeled cooler. They bought several to stay hydrated, and after finishing her can of diet, Laura said, “Okay. Your turn now.”

“Eh?” he forestalled, knowing what she wanted.

"Your turn to ask me a question you’ve wanted to ask.”

He considered that. Yesterday she’d rejected the burning question he had. _What happened to your third sibling? What happened to your father? Tell me the real reason you became a detective?_ But he knew it wasn’t yet the time to ask those questions. Laura would harp at him about his secrets, but he wondered not for the first time if it was a distraction to keep him from hers. Because everyone had secrets.

So he said, lightly, “Tell me why I never hear you play the piano.”

That caught her off guard and she swung up on one elbow to look at him through sunglasses. “What?”

“Your grandmother’s piano was your pride and joy. Sometimes I hear you at the instrument when I arrive at the loft. But then you stop. You never play when I’m around.”

He was surprised to see that she had flushed. He didn’t think it was the start of a sunburn. Not with all the lotion he’d massaged into her. She stammered, “I…I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m interested in everything that interests you.”

“Oh…” That only increased her discomfort.

“Except for the paperwork, of course.”

The jest eased her back. “Honest? I wasn’t trying to hide it. I thought you’d find it dull.”

“What makes you happiest to play?”

“Happiest?” She tilted her head to consider, an endearing gesture. “Bach, of course. Mozart and Chopin. Cole Porter…”

“When do you practice?” He continued to draw her out, wanting a portrait of her free time when he wasn’t around. Wanting to see what life together might be like.

“Well…in the evenings. To unwind after work…Sometimes it helps me think about a case. My subconscious worries at the puzzle while I focus on the playing. Then, sometimes, the pieces fall together in a different pattern.”

He nodded. “Sometimes the drawing and doodling do that for me.”

“See?” she teased. “You do have the instincts of a good detective.”

“Just good?”

“Can’t let it go to your head…” she said with a smile. Then her expression sobered. “Tell you what. We’ll find a night next week. You make me dinner and I’ll play you a concert.”

_Next week. She’s talking about us and next week._ He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Later, they went for a swim and then both had a good excuse to massage sunblock into each other. It was a public place and perhaps that made it only more tempting to push the other as far as they dared. Steele found himself clutching the edges of his towel as Laura’s touch floated to caress his skin and he didn’t dare roll onto his back, a fact that she noticed perfectly well, judging by her throaty chuckle. _Heavens. What happens when we do go all the way? I don’t think we’ll leave bed for a week._ She took his shaded lounge chair while he struggled to regain his composure, and when he finally did, Laura refused to move. “It’s time you got some tan. Otherwise what will Mildred think we did all the time?”

“Mildred knows damn well what we want to do all the time,” he growled. To which she merely smiled sweetly and picked up her trashy novel.

Eventually, she took pity on his Irish skin, so unsuited for tropical sunshine, and with their situation reversed he got his revenge, running expert hands over her muscled flesh and relishing the small shivers and thrills beneath his touch. He started at her toes and slowly worked his way up. When he reached her upper back she said, “Hold on,” and he nearly launched from his swim trunks as, still on her stomach, she reached behind and casually unhooked the back of her suit top. “Mmm, that’s better,” she said.

“For whom? I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I know,” she said with a teasing smile and he made a hasty, mental correction. _Make it two weeks in bed._

When he finally, reluctantly finished, he repositioned his chair and umbrella so that his bare feet touched hers, and he entertained them both by making love with her through their feet, running a light touch along her soles, inserting his toes between hers, tugging and rubbing between them. He heard her breath catch and saw her paperback fall aside and it only encouraged his efforts. But he had her, because she couldn’t roll away given her top was unhooked and because it was her nature not to admit defeat. _Or was it ‘de feet’?_

But that was really the point, wasn’t it? He’d shown her what they could be like if they moved forward, and she wasn’t running away and she wasn’t picking an argument and she wasn’t fleeing toward the first man who entered their sphere. Like a child’s toy top or a gyroscope, they seemed to have finally kicked themselves off their old center of mistrust and fear, and onto a new center with the promise of honesty.

And if that was the outcome from their trip for two to Hawaii, then he considered his finances very well invested, indeed.

[End of Chapter 8]


	9. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura finally asks the question that she has never asked Remington before. How will Remington react?

For their last night Mr. Steele took her - booked well in advance – to a popular hillside restaurant. From their patio table the city spilled out before and below them in a tiara of diamonds, edged by a diamond-dotted black sea that reflected the moon and stars. The view was perfect and the meal was perfect and Laura aimed for perfect as well, wearing that little black number she’d worn in the _People_ magazine shoot. While the front part of her attention back then was focused on Tyler and Austin’s presumptive guilt, another part had noticed that her partner couldn’t take his eyes off her throughout that aborted photo shoot and through their investigations thereafter. He couldn’t take his eyes off her tonight, either, and she felt luminescent under his attention.

She had remarked to Mildred on another occasion that no one could do romance like Mr. Steele, and tonight he’d outdone himself, sartorial in cream linens and a deep crimson silk shirt, and he’d presented her with a matching red gardenia to adorn her hair; it looked sensational with the black dress. She’d heard his jokes about a sarong, and while she wasn’t dressed like Dorothy Lamour, her appearance had rendered him speechless. There was no reason why she couldn’t contribute to the proceedings as well.

While they danced to a jazz combo that interspersed popular standards with Hawaiian melodies, fragments of their shared past flittered through her memory. A walk along the Santa Monica marina with his jacket draped over her shoulders to counter the chilly nighttime breeze. His animated story-telling as he brought his past alive and helped her climb up from despair after her home was destroyed. And just recently, arriving home to find him perched on the edge of her sofa and dangling a disarmed explosive in his soot-streaked hand, having broken in through a window to save her life. Then there was memory of her niece Laurie, who sat astride his slim shoulders and clung to the open collar of his expensive shirt while he crawled on fours across the office floor to entertain her, as if he’d always been surrounded by children.

Or maybe had always wanted to be?

A voice murmured in her ear and his warm breath sent her spine tingling. “Where are you, Laura?”

Her lips upturned. “Dancing in the embrace of the most fascinating man I’ve ever met.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

She briefly pressed a breast against his chest. “I’m not a man, Mr. Steele,” and he lifted an eyebrow.

“I noticed that as well.” And he shifted his hold around her, just to make the point.

It was only when the band took a break that they returned to their table and Laura wasn’t surprised that awaiting them was a champagne bottle chilling in a silver bucket. Steele held her chair as she seated herself and the maitre’d was already pouring before he regained his own.

They toasted each other across the table and, as she sipped, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

She took another sip, giving herself a little time, and then set down her glass and leaned across the table on her elbows. “I was thinking that this was how it all began.” She nodded at the bucket and bottle. “Champagne. In a glass. It was a whole magnum, then.”

“Apparently I succeeded in making it memorable.” His voice was low. Seductive. The voice she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to resist.

“Oh, it certainly was,” she agreed. The waiters had long since cleared the remains of dinner and now it was the two of them once again. She leaned forward across the cream linen surface. “We’ve come a long way since then. And it’s been mostly very good.”

An eyebrow rose. “I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

“And as we continue moving forward, there’s just one thing I still need to know.”

His expression froze and his glass hit the table surface with a soft ‘clop’. “What’s my real name?” and she heard the trace of bitterness. She was immediately sorry and she quickly reached to touch the hand that had tightened around the champagne stem.

“No,” she said. “Not that. Our trips to Ireland, and then London, made it pretty clear that your birth name will likely remain a mystery. And I’m sorrier than anything for that.”

“Then…what?” The bitterness lingered. “How many paintings have I stolen? How many warrants are out for my arrest?” He made to drain his glass and she arrested the gesture. She summoned everything she felt for him and let it all forward to show naked on her face.

“Why did you come back?” she asked softly.

The bitterness slid away and was replaced with open bafflement. “You know the answer. You came for me. You tracked me down to London.”

She shook her head. “Not London. L.A.”

His mouth dropped open and the hand holding his glass slowly dropped back onto the table, forgotten. “What?”

She spoke steadily and laid out her case. “After you failed to steal the Royal Lavulite, you boarded a plane and flew on to San Francisco, the jewels’ next stop. I know that because I found Jean Morrell’s name in the TWA passenger list. You were there for a little less than twenty-four hours, then flew back and, the following morning, slipped into our office and assumed the identity of Remington Steele. What changed your mind?”

_“Mr. Steele. I thought you were in San Francisco?”_

_“I was. But suddenly, there was nothing for me to do there.”_

His mouth closed. Opened again. Her plan worked and she’d caught him completely off guard and he didn’t know how to answer her. She wondered if maybe it was because he could no longer remember that man and how he felt and thought. She took courage from the fact that he didn’t fall back on a glib line, and she decided to help him along.

“You’re about to say it was because the security on the lavulite grew too tight.” He closed his mouth and, after a moment, he nodded. “It makes sense. But you could have just laid low and waited a few weeks. There was a pretty big bounty on their return.”

He had found his voice again. “Ten percent of two-point-four million. Perhaps I needed to occupy my time until opportunity arose again.”

“There’s plenty else to steal in San Francisco,” she replied calmly.

She could see the wheels turning through his narrowed eyes. The pause between them lengthened as she waited. She was very good at waiting.

Finally, he said, “I could say I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Then you’d accuse me of saying what I think you want to hear.”

“Go on.”

“Or, I could say that I’d conned my way into an easy, luxurious lifestyle. Then you’d be disappointed in me.”

“So you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” She shrugged. “Since you’re damned either way, you may as well be truthful.”

“The truth…” He blew out a breath. Shifted his gaze toward the city lights that twinkled and stretched out below them and toward the midnight-colored harbor, where a smattering of lights revealed the solo passage of ships that touched port, ever so briefly, and then moved on to disappear beyond the horizon. He said, “The truth is, there’s never one single truth. Remington Steele lived the high life, and I realized I was tired of fighting for one. Chauffeured limo. Free meals. Penthouse suite. It made a nice change from making shift.”

She took another sip and eyed him over the glass rim. “Go on.”

“Need I mention the very attractive Miss Holt? Maybe I could seduce her. It’d be fun to try.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “You didn’t fly back just to seduce me.”

“Didn’t I?” An eyebrow rose. A waiter took it as a suggestion and refilled their glasses, and after the man disappeared, he raised his glass in another toast. Laura left her own untouched. He drank, then set it down and leaned forward to confront her. “All right. Truth be told, it was a night rather like this. I flew in, checked into my hotel. I hadn’t been to San Francisco before. So I took a taxi to the Wharf. Had dinner. Walked around. In the past, I would be thinking about all the movies filmed there. Bullitt. Vertigo. The Maltese Falcon…That night I could hardly recall a single one. I passed couples walking along the pier with the lights from across the bay reflected on the dark water. Eyed a few women. A few eyed me back. And all I could think was…they weren’t interesting. Not a one. So I went back to my hotel. Alone.

“The next day, I began to research where the stones were displayed. And...that wasn’t interesting, either.”

“That must have been some revelation." She took a sip but her gaze never left his.

“You have a talent for understatement,” he agreed wryly. “You asked for truth? The truth was that being Remington Steele was the most interesting job I’d ever had…So I came back.”

Laura smiled. “I’m very glad you did.”

“It’s gratifying to know one’s instincts are sound…” Then he knuckled an ear, and Laura knew he wasn’t quite finished with his story. “It was maybe five or six weeks after I’d been me. Maybe when we were locating those stolen video games. I suddenly realized that being Remington Steele was the most fun I’d had in some time. Being Steele made me genuinely happy. And the corollary was the discovery that, prior to that point, I hadn’t been happy at all.”

Laura stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt his rare flow of introspection.

“At first, it made sense. Having a permanent roof over my head, a steady income. Exciting work. A beautiful woman to flirt with. Murphy to annoy…” She couldn’t help but smile at that, remembering. “And then, maybe it was after that business with the Five Nudes, that I understood the real reason. I came back because you believed in me. And I very much needed in my life someone who did.”

She reached up to lightly touch his cheek. The face of a professional thief who had stolen her heart. “I believe in you,” she said. He reached up to gently clasp her fingers and drew them to his lips and dropped a light kiss against them.

“And I’m grateful every day for it.” Then he gave her that disarming grin, the one that always charmed her despite her better judgment. “Now will you agree to sleep with me?”

She was so accustomed to the line that it didn’t faze her. “I thought we already had.”

His blue eyes danced. “Crushed again,” he quipped and Laura squeezed his hands across the table.

“I’m very happy that you’re in my life, as well,” she said simply.

“I think that calls for more champagne,” and he raised a hand for their waiter.

They danced again into the wee hours, both acutely aware it was their last night and that, moving forward, things would be different although they didn’t yet know how. Back at their room, even though certain clothing items remained on, he brought her to ecstasy, and she to him. He willingly gave her what she needed and desired and he accepted the boundaries she imposed, and yet he still managed to transgress them while making her feel special. It was the way he’d always been with her. And afterward, the night breeze washed over them through the open window, and his hand drifted through her tumbled hair while hers rested lightly on his bare chest as she laid beside him, and both thought that their situation was damn near perfect.

[End of Chapter 9]


	10. Forty Karats

He awoke warm and contented and with the mother of all hard-ons beneath his pajama bottoms. He’d dreamt all night about lovemaking with Laura and his body craved her like an addict for a drug. He smelled her scent and reached across the tangled sheets for her body…and discovered the bed was empty and the sheets cool. _She slipped away for a moment._ He cautiously opened an eye and glanced around for her, gathering intel for his forthcoming assault. Sunshine streamed through the open balcony door and beyond the rhythmic lap of waves were the exotic calls of birds he didn’t know. There was no sign of Laura. He pulled himself up for a better look. Their rooms were awfully quiet.

He left the bed, pulling on the robe that had fallen onto the floor, and headed for the sitting room. She wasn’t there either, but he found a note on the little breakfast bar.

_Gone for a run. Back soon. L._

Annoyance displaced desire. This was classic Avoidance Laura, finding an excuse to run away when things grew too close between them. _Damn._ He’d hoped this trip would put that problem to rest, and that her trust in him would deepen to include her heart as well as her head. _Damn damn damn._

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he yanked it open to discover a uniformed young man with a room service delivery. “Your breakfast, Mr. Steele.”

“Fine,” he said, a little ungraciously, and stepped back so the cart could be wheeled inside. With practiced efficiency the youth set up covered plates that smelled suspiciously like bacon and eggs, a platter of fresh fruits, orange juice and coffee, and a small bottle of champagne. He efficiently uncorked the latter and before Steele could interject proceeded to prepare a pair of mimosas. Then he executed a slight bow and Steele took the hint to tip the lad and saw him to the door.

And that gave him an idea as to what Laura Holt might be up to, since it wasn’t he who had ordered the breakfast. Mimosa in hand, he strolled to their balcony and looked out across the wide expanse of white beach. He readily spotted the lithe figure in running shorts and bikini top that moved effortlessly along the packed sand at the shoreline. He could pick her out in a crowd of a thousand. He smiled to himself and settled against the balcony rail to enjoy the view of his long-legged field darter – impossibly long legs and a slim figure that belied a remarkable strength and agility, as he now had cause to know. Her ponytail swished back and forth in rhythm to her long strides, and he enjoyed the gentle bounce of her breasts as they shifted side to side. He caught a flash from her sunglasses as her head turned and he knew she sought him at the balcony. He grinned and raised his glass in a toast. He felt as well as saw her hundred-watt smile and at that moment realized this was partly in show for him, and his own grin broadened.

Apparently that was her cue, and she sprinted harder past the beach cabanas and then curved toward the hotel entrance and disappeared beneath its balcony, and in a few short minutes he heard her key at their door. He passed her a hand towel as she entered and quipped, “Remarkable display of the indigenous wildlife this morning.”

"Bet you didn’t know the field darter was migratory.”

“No, but I’m a keen naturalist when motivated.”

“Motivate away,” she said and disappeared into their bedroom. Moments later he heard the shower come on and, when he peeked, was astonished to discover that she hadn’t closed the door fully. He considered that. Reconsidered it. And decided that last night had been perfect and that he didn’t want to ruin the fragility of this new relationship. He discarded his robe in favor of loose slacks and an open shirt – _well, I wouldn’t want to remove all temptation_ – and had breakfast arranged on the balcony as she emerged wearing a light shift and her hair wrapped in a towel.

“See?” she said as she accepted the mimosa, “trust your stomach to let me know when breakfast was ready.”

“Yes. I awoke ravenously hungry. Funny how you knew that.” He wasn’t talking about his stomach.

“These past three days were incredible. I know you want more, but let’s see how we handle our new arrangement first.”

He raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to moving forward. Albeit a saltatory fashion.”

***

Several hours later, on the long plane flight home, Laura’s pencil hesitated over her book of crosswords. Ever sensitive to her moods, Steele appeared to notice and removed his head phones from the inflight movie. “What’s up?”

“I’m a little surprised. A whole weekend together and not a single movie quote from you.”

“That’s because we had no case. No mystery to solve. No bodies. No one shooting at us.”

“I guess I’ve grown to like them.” He raised an eyebrow. “The movie quotes, I mean.”

“Then I’d better oblige…” His voice drifted and she waited. “I’ve got it.”

“ _The Lost Weekend_? _The Wizard of Oz?_ ”

“Laura,” he chided gently. “No, no. Ray Milland played an alcoholic. Our movie is _40 Karats._ ”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Liv Ullmann plays a divorced, overworked businesswoman on vacation in Venice, where her brief affair with the much younger Edward Albert morphs into the love and happiness she always wanted.”

She smiled. “Good choice, Mr. Steele. And, now that I think on it, perhaps there’s a mystery to be solved, after all.”

He suddenly looked a little wary. “It’s not a bad movie. Gene Kelly plays her ex-husband.”

She tapped her pencil against his jacket sleeve. “What puzzles me, Mr. Steele, is our room. How was it that I was awarded a full suite? I heard the radio ads. I know what KROT offered as a prize.”

“Ah.” He leaned across the shared armrest of their first class seats and lowered his voice. “Perhaps the hotel thought that separate rooms would be more romantic than a single?”

“How so?”

“Slipping into each other’s bed? That frisson of anticipation?” He was alluding to a conversation they’d had, back in the early days of their relationship.

“They were certainly right about that,” she agreed with a smile of recollection. “It was very romantic, Mr. Steele.”

“My thinking precisely, Miss Holt.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned across their shared armrest to share a light kiss. “Thank you.”

An eyebrow rose. “Eh? Thank KROT, you mean.”

“Nice try, Mr. Steele. But you see, I also know it was economy airfare. So…thank you. It was a magical holiday.”

He gave an unconscious tug to an earlobe, and she knew that meant he was annoyed and pleased in equal measure at having been found out. “Well,” he finally said, “I rather owed you one after that debacle in San Francisco.”

“I suppose you did,” she said with an answering smile. “And you succeeded brilliantly. Despite my fears, you proved the point. We spent an intimate weekend together and weren’t shot at, or run off the road, or any of the things that happen to us whenever we try to take some personal time.”

“And what’s your verdict? Do we still have a future together when there’s no case to bind us?” Last year, she was the one who asked that question, and her own reply to the question had been disastrous for them both. But a great deal had happened since then, and now much was understood between them. So he smiled as he asked because they now both knew the answer.

“I think the question needs more investigation, Mr. Steele,” she replied and twined an arm to draw her face closer to his. “Lots and lots of investigation.”

Their long, lingering kiss lasted until the stewardess came by to freshen their drinks.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly, in all my years of movie watching, I'd notheard of the movie "40 Karats" until this story was essentially finished; TCM had advertised it, and so I rearranged my schedule as to be sure to catch it, and see how it might fit into the story. To my delight, it fit very well, indeed.
> 
> This story came about because I needed to push their relationship forward in S4. Others refer to S4 as "Mr. and Mrs. Steele" and I am inclined to agree. They become far more comfortable with each other, and suggested to me that something had finally kicked their relationship off its old axis, and onto a new one. An obviously place was to ask what would happen if Laura actually won that trip to Hawaii. I mean, Mr. Steele is not going to let that opportunity pass by!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your comments. Writers live for feedback! It keeps us from thinking that we are writing in a closet. It was fun to think about Laura's forgotten sibling, and that ridiculous tag scene in Santa Claus, and Remington's ridiculous behavior in Suburban. And I know that Laura would really enjoy meeting Badger. I hope you enjoyed it all as well.


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